Empathy
by gelfling
Summary: Yaoi, GohanVegeta. Everyone deals with changes growing up; occasionally they sicken you, and sometimes they hurt people. A tale of obsession and denial, and an experiment in writing styles. Non-fluff, realistic, bits of blood and lime.
1. Questing

Empathy 

Disclaimer: Not mine.  But you can give me money, though.  I won't object to that.

Archive: PLEASE!!!  Just email me first, please, so I know where it is, and if there's any new chappies or anything like that I know where to send it.  At gelfling8604@yahoo.com.

Warning:  May contain material some people find offensive later.

A/N:  Namek dragon balls do not exist here.

                Minimalism Style

A boy sits alone at the table, adolescence making his limbs seem even more awkward and gangly than reality.

He twirls and rolls a half empty glass between his hands.  

The liquid is gin.  The boy isn't old enough to drink.

He looks out the window and scans the street, keeping his face out of the light.  He switches to check the door, shifts in his chair and looks askingly at the drink in his hand before taking a sip, then makes a face.

He carefully puts the glass down again, where it lands with a clatter.  He gulps, eyes darting around the shadowy room while his cheeks flame, before he looks out the window, cheeks still bright.

It's very early in the morning.  The sun is just rising.  He wipes his hands on his pants and shifts.  His breathing is jumpy.

'Who are you hiding from boy?'

A yelp, a knee bangs the bottom of the table, the glass jumping up and a tanned hand caught the glass by the rim.

The boy stares at the darker hand in front of him, the arm extending over his shoulder and against his cheek, the skin tickling his ear.

The arm is held there for a second too long, ending with a snort and a clatter as the glass hits the table.

'Uh, hey!  Hello.  Uh.  You made it.  Yeah.  Wow.  Thanks for coming, I wasn't-'

'What the hell do you want?'

'Uh, um, sit down, please, uh, do you anything to-'

'_What_…do you want?'

The older man's voice shifts to a deeper tone, commanding an air of authority and conspiracy.  The younger man pales and he twitches in his seat, never looking directly up at his guest or the fellow room members.

'Well, right now I want you to sit down.'

'I don't want to sit.  You had better have a good excuse for calling me here boy at this time in the morning.  I've got better things to do than chat with you.'

'Yeah, I know.  Thank you, by the way.  Um, actually I _do_ have something important to ask.  I really need help, Vegeta-san.  Um.  Would you mind sitting down?  I'll try to keep it short.'

The man waits, then the chair legs scrape shrilly against the floor.  The man sits.

The boy speaks quickly, frantically, as if afraid the words will run away from him if he doesn't spit them out.  He his hands and smoothes his pants, looking in jerks at his guest to the table to the door.

'I'm… _doing_ things, and I don't know _why_ I did them.'

'Like breathing?'

'No, not like that.  I mean, like the other day I-I killed someone.'

The darker man's face doesn't change, but his eyes focus.  His paler counter part doesn't notice.  He's too confused.

'I mean, I didn't quite _plan_ on it, but the opportunity was there, and I wasn't thinking, I must've _not_ been thinking, and I did.  I just did it.  I _wanted_ to do it, I think.  I'm not sure why.  I can't _imagine_ why.  I mean, I don't--'

The boy rubs the back of his neck with his palm and looks over at his guest.  The darker man says nothing, and his face is chiseled.

'And, and now I look back, and I don't feel guilty.  I'm…remorseful I guess, regretful, but I don't feel _bad_ bad, and that's not right.  I mean, I wished I hadn't done it, but if I could repeat the,' the boy licks his top lip, 'the, um, _situation_, I guess, and even if I knew it and I could still retain the knowledge I have now I don't believe I would have altered anything.  Anything.  I might have…I might…'

The darker man watches the boy as he thinks, head bent and shoulder rolling a bit, hands always in motion, either repeatedly smoothing down his slacks or rubbing against each other.  The boy's voice drops in timbre, rumbling low over the floor.

'About two nights ago I woke up a few miles from home in the woods.  I'm not sure how I got there.  I was covered in blood, but I wasn't even bruised.  When I got home I was sick, and threw up.  There were pieces of bone.  Um…there was blood there too.  Inside me.  And it didn't…it didn't smell like mine.'

The darker man watches the boy as he thinks, head bent and shoulder rolling a bit, hands always in motion, either repeatedly smoothing down his slacks or rubbing against each other.

'And I don't feel bad.  I don't feel a thing.'

'So?'

'But I _should_ feel guilty.  I should.  But I just feel…a little sick.  And jumpy.  Like something's going to happen, but I'm not sure what.'

The boy rubs his arm, looks at the door, breathes in deep and seems to choke, then coughs, and continues.

'Lately it's been like that, little things.  Making the coffee machine in the teacher's lounge explode, scalding the front of Mr Harris, pulling fuses…there was an article in the news yesterday, about a district losing all electrical power?  Well, that was me.  I, uh, I crashed the Sony network in the Yukata district too, there'll be really nice internet virus coming out of that one, and a crash on a freeway.  Three people died.  I lit some cats on fire last Friday, and I'm not sure why.  I go in the woods and I…I don't know why.  I'm hurting things.  I don't know why.'

'You want me to help you mutilate domestic animals?'

'_No!_  Can you take your mind _off_ of that for-'

'Sit _down_ boy.'

Picture the older man glaring up at the boy with his arms looped over his chest, composed, confident, yet still managing the rebel.

The younger one stands in front of a knocked chair, an indent in the oak table where he slapped it.  His top lip is pulled back a bit in a snarl, another yell ready to erupt, eyes literally glow slightly, while his hair moves in wind that isn't there.  

'Or I'll make you.'

The older man's voice has again dropped to its throaty growl, yet carries in the room.

The younger man's eyes narrow and flame, pause…but he sits down, staring defiantly at the other man, lifting his hand out of the dent to tap an odd tattoo on the table.  He never breaks eye contact.

'So you're fucking off.  Why the hell should I care?  I'm not your damn preacher.'

'I don't have a religion.'

'Whatever.  What do you want _me_ for?'

'I need _help_ Vegeta.  I can't tell my dad because he'd freak out, and so would my mom.'

'And your green boyfriend?'

'He's _not_ my _boyfriend_.'  

The boy's voice raises to it's stormy pitch again, the tone and context again earning him the attention of everyone who hadn't sidled out after his first outburst.

The older man smirks broadly and his eyes dance.  The boy's cheeks flame again, he blinks and his mouth hinging, eyes darting from the man to the people to the floor.

'He your lover then?'

'no!'

The boy speaks in a whisper, expression and tone both insuring the exclamation mark and lower case.

'No, it's not like that, and you know it.  Would you leave it already?'

The older man snorts, and the smirk leaves his face for an irritated scowl.

'Please, Vegeta-san, I asked you because you were the only…I thought would really-understand, I guess.'

'Really.'

'Um, yeah.'

The tapping of the boy's fingers dulls to a halt.  He rubs his hand absently, keeping eyes off the older man.  

'I get the urge, and I can't control, and sometimes I don't even _want_ to control it.  But I should.'

'Why?'

'Because hurting things are wrong, _I_ know it's wrong, I don't even enjoy it, and I need it to stop.  Dad would be furious.'

The older man rolls his eyes after catching the expression on the boy's face and he sighs silently.

'Did they suffer?'

'Who?'

'Your molested animals.  Did they suffer?'

'They died.'

'But did they suffer?'

The boy doesn't say anything.  He looks up with stark disbelief.

'What did you expect me to do boy?'

'Help me.'

'How?'

'I don't know.'

The older man snorts and moves to stand.  A thin and pale hand on his arm keeps him from leaving.  The early light shows the bones in his hand and muscles on his arm in sharp relief and contrast.  The hand is rigid.

'Please?  Anything, I mean-Is this something Saiyan, some kind of stage, a disease, like, is there training, a cure?  Anything?  Please?  I'm sure I can't be crazy.  Please?'

The older man snorts and acid burns in his eyes.

'And why am _I_ supposed to care that _Daddy's boy_ is fucking off?  If he really means that much to you, ask _him_ instead.'

'I—I didn't mean to insult, but I have a feeling I am-'

'Damn straight.'

'This isn't what I _do_, Vegeta-san.  I mean, from what I've understood from Dad-'

'You said you didn't tell him.'

'I didn't.  But I asked.  He said, well, nothing really useful-'

'Naturally.'

'-but then I wasn't being exactly clear either.  So he _might_ have experienced this, and I was asking the wrong questions.'

'You afraid of telling _him_, boy?'

'No.'

'Ashamed?'

'…Yes.'

The older man snorts, but settles himself into his chair.  A smirk lingers on his lips.

'And I guess you want to ask _me_ about _my_ childhood, right?'

'Yes.  I mean no.  I mean, well, if you _want_ to talk about it, if that wouldn't be too much of a problem, yes.  But really I just want to know if this is a normal Saiyan phase.  A chemical imbalance, the two DNA reacting badly to each other, something.'

'Do I look like a doctor to you?'

'No.  But you _are_ the only one who really knows anything about Saiyans.  I mean, you being the prince of the race, and all.'

'All fucking five of them.'

There is a long silence.  The boy sits still, quietly.  He waits.

The older man does nothing.  He waits also.  He isn't enjoying the game anymore.  

'You're growing up.  So what?'

The boy does not respond, but lets the silence sit like hole in the ground, a void, that the older man feels obliged to fill.  The older man glares.  The boy stares quietly.  The older man sighs and rolls his eyes.

'Your bloods mixed.  It's wrong.  If you were pure-blood you'd remember what it was you did.  And you'd be doing a hell of a lot more than molesting puppies and computers.'

'How do I stop it?'

'You don't.'

'There has to be a way.'

'There isn't.'

'Wha-?…How long will it last?'

'Depends.'

'How _long_?'

Pause.

'Please.'

'Depends.  Sometimes a few months, sometimes a few years.  Usually happens sooner in life.'  

'Can you help me?  With anything at all?'

The boy's tone doesn't sound convinced.  He's expecting the negative he's been getting all morning.  He isn't disappointed.

'Why should I?'

A deal?  This could help him.

'Well, I-I can pay you back.  With…whatever you like.' 

' "Whatever I like?" '  The older man snorts and smirks degradingly, and leans forward with his arms on the table, voice low and raspy.  

'What do _you_ have boy that _I_ could possibly want?'

The boy blushes, embarrassed and slightly upset at the condescension, at the cheap challenge, his lips moving without coherent sound.

'I _mean_, what are you offering?'

The boy blinks, looks briefly at the table and begins to speak.  

'And make it _interesting_.  If you can.  I don't give a damn about making some machine bust.'

'We~ell, if you, wanted a sparring partner sometimes, I mean I know you train on your own most of the time, but if you ever wanted a partner, for whatever, whenever, I could do that.'

The older man looks toward the door.

'Um, offer, what can I offer?'  The boy leans back, rubs his arm absently and looks at the door.

'Als~so, if you needed taxes done, I don't know if you do, or if you needed, um, repair on the gravity room and it wasn't too much in depth or if Bulma needed help with- '

'So you'd be in my debt.'

'Huh?  Oh, well, yeah.  Of course.'

_'Deep_ in my debt.'

'Um-'

'Seeing how you hate for all the little puppies and kitties to suffer.  Or your father having to find out.'

'We~ell, yes.  Yes, I guess so.'

The older man leans back.

'Can you help me?'

The older man says nothing, merely observing the boy quietly.  

'So who was it you killed?'

'It-it wasn't,…I don't…want to talk about that.'

'You owe me.'

'You haven't done anything yet.'

'Quit questioning me and talk.  You want help, start paying up.'

The boy says nothing.  He doesn't look up.

'Or you could always wait until it's somebody _I_ know too.'

The boy drops his head further, and squirms uncomfortably.  He isn't blushing anymore, but instead very pale.

'A girl.'

'Your mother?'

' _What?_  Oh.  Oh.  No.  Just-just a girl.  Friend.  That I knew.  Was friends with.  Her name doesn't matter anymore.'

The boy speaks levelly, somberly.  He doesn't sound guilty.  Simply serious, and a little nervous.  He rubs his arm, and picks the lint off his pants.

'Your first?'

'First what?'

'First… _girl_ friend.'

'She wasn't my girl friend.'

'Whatever, look, she was… _close_ to you, wasn't she?'

'…I~I…well, no.  I guess you…Yes.'

'Your body is going faster than normal.  The changes only began a week ago, and you've already hunted her.'

The boy's eyes blink, freeze, before rolling up slowly to look at his guest.  His eyes are bright.

'But you _killed_ her.  You shouldn't have.  Your bloods too mixed up.'

'You knew.'  The boy's voice is still soft, but the tone screams.

'Of course.  I smelled it on you the first day.'

'You didn't say anything.'  The boy's tone growls.

'Wasn't my business.'

'You could've helped me then.'  The boy's tone snarls.

'Why?'

'She wouldn't have had to die-'

'She might have anyway.  Your bloods mixed up.  You'll have to find another soon.'  The older man sounds serious, and a little disgruntled.

'Another what?'  The boy's tone bites.

'Mate.  Prospect.'

'There aren't any.'

'This planet is over-populated with them.  Believe me, I've noticed.'

'Not like her.'

'Oh- _shit_.'  

The older man shifts and swears.  

'There are _plenty_ more like her.  You simply look for something bi-ped with an absence of _dick_ and you fuck them.  Your boyfriend would do great if you could strap some breast on him.'

The boy says nothing.

Many things can happen in a second.  A woman pregnant becomes a mother in a second.  A boy becomes a man.  A hunter becomes a murderer.  A girl can fall in love, a dream becomes a reality, and the red light turns green.  A person becomes a corpse. 

The building and block became a crater.

The older man found himself under attack.

He can't follow the blows; he is hit from all sides simultaneously and is a great deal more affected from the initial blast than he appears.  His hair is streaming flax, eyes teal and arms crossed in front of him and legs curled slightly beneath him while he hovers several miles in the air, occasionally dodging without reason, sometimes impacted from an invisible force.  He does not panic.

The glimpses of the boy he is able to catch show a snarling visage with hair and eyes like his own and many sharp white teeth.  While the boy's blows rarely miss and cause significant damage, the man notices the boy leaves himself open at all times, not bothering to defend in the slightest.  There is no strategy, no rhythm, no plan.

The man's lip is split and is clipped near his eye.  

The man shifts up quickly, and is hit on the wrists, tilts his head and is hit on the ear, his eyes widen for a bit-

The boy shows for the first time, the older man's fist in his stomach.  The boy's face registers shock for a second, before snapping up to look at the man.  His eyes and color are still bright.

A line of light replaces the space the boy occupied, and the older man follows up.

What happens next, happens quickly.  After 10 minutes there is a calm.  A tidal wave bangs into the coast and buildings a minute and some seconds later.  A lot can happen in a second.

~~~~~


	2. Turnpike

Disclaimer:  Not mines.  Wowzer.  Neato, huh?  

Warning:  Will contain yaoi later on, a think you could guess the pairing.  Probably won't be very romantic, but ought to be pretty obsessive.  

~~~~~

Normal Style

Vegeta rubbed the bite mark on his neck absently for the fifth time that day and swore.

The demonic strength the boy had obtained out of nowhere, out of the blind rage and hatred that sometimes overtook him, had enabled him to snap Vegeta's head to the side and sink his teeth in.  

It was partly a godsend; because it snapped Vegeta's brain and rage into working against the pain and surprise and helped him beat the boy down and bloody quickly.  

It was somewhat…too easy.

Gohan never fought at full strength.  Most of the time he was too scared to.  

Yet he had, mind over-loaded with chemicals.  

Vegeta snarled half-heartedly, swore, rubbed the mark and looked at the crumpled, unconscious form on the beach.  

The boy had been looking for an outlet, had been looking for a target.  He hadn't meant it the way it was supposed to.  

Vegeta turned and switched to the air, back to his home.  

It didn't mean a damn.  

It didn't mean a damn at all.

~~~

Note:  This was short chappie because…well…this was a short chappie.  Look for the next chappie inna about…6 hours?  4 hours?  It's already written, but it might be a bit of a trick to read so…better yet look for it in the next 24 hours.  Just to be sure.  I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to get on a computer later, so thus the possible late update.

gelfling8604@yahoo.com


	3. Poetry

Poetry by Faulkner Style

he runs

he runs like anything like anything that wasn't and like anything that was and running and run and he ran ran until he couldn't he couldn't breathe feet flapping and splashing and flying like birds like sparrows he runs

he can fly he knows how he can do he learned he knows he runs runs faster than flying and flies like running and his eyes are wild and every muscle runs to help him fly to fly he breathes 

but he can't he can't breathe he feels like he's dying he feels like he's crashing he breathes he sucks in air like anything like water like life like rage like fear and he can't breathe _breathe_ breathe but 

he never stops running running like the wind running like dirt like a shovel like a rabbit like a fox like a nova like a dream before waking 

he runs

he can feel him he can feel him breathing he can feel him _laughing_ (the bastard) but he doesn't stop running and can feel him all around like he was taking the air taking the air away and far 

and what now what now he can't be caught not by him no way he can run he can run faster but he can barely walk but 

that doesn't mean a damn that doesn't have a _fuck_ to do with anything with nothing at all 

he can fight he can fight like all the fires of hell like the void of space like the darkness and demons of his heart he can fight he can fight like all but the boy can't catch him no way in hell not him _definitely_ not him not that punk not that child not that bast-

he's tackled from behind roughly, and doesn't fall to the ground but still runs but now he's rolling instead rolling on the ground running heels over head and head over heels and he can feel him all around his scent and smell and taste stronger than ever and bitter and everywhere

--GET OFF—

he was struck again, struck and beaten like the first time, like the second time, with the same strength and same places

he knows this style now, knows it and can almost predict it _almost_ foresee it and knows there's no defense the boy is wide open no experience no caution he isn't this is all instinct and chemicals some damn pitiful chemicals that even the _woman_ could beat and he can't he can't and 

he screams and powers up because he can beat this punk he could fight this child this brainy worthless whelp of a bastard anger anger go angry angry is always the key go angry

but he's tired

the attacks have been deadly and full strength with a strength that is mixed and hybrid and adaptive highly adaptive evolution by the second and the savage power of his own race

and he's running on his own

and he's running out

he's floored and pinned without knowing how and all he can see is the snarling fire envy lime and spikes that glow and merge without much battle smooth the pale golden majesty of Super Saiyan married with the white of the grinning skull in the sky behind him and all the man can see-

-knives of bone of ivory steel like a tiger like a lion and the grinning snarl of the maniac demon boy bloody and burning above him and he knows what comes next so-

-he takes a chance

he drops his power 

black bleeds black his body weakens and bends and sinks into the earth and the hands that hold him and grip him and hold him 

the grin falters, hesitate, teeth yet hungering and burning still but this wasn't how it was supposed to be this wasn't how it was last time blood he wanted blood this one, this one's blood it had to be this one this one's skin this one's body it had to be this one but he wasn't supposed to do this why was he doing this he wasn't supposed-

he sees his opening his first his only this wouldn't work again this wouldn't work twice the was gone gone without a trace without the fear without the passivity without the weakness but he knows he's not stupid this is still the boy still the boy the boy is smart smarter than the father have to be careful have to be sure have to take another chance have to throw him off keep him off balance off guard just long enough mess with his mind his mind his body's too strong mess with his mind

he reaches up to the mouth the mouth that still snarls and growls and hungers and desires and desires so strong so deep it's almost frightening but _he's_ not frightened of anything so he takes the chance and thinks back to when the teeth sank in slid in into his skin into his muscle he could feel the meat the flesh separate and the pain he remembers the pain but the _real_ searing and salt and burning and iron is the shame the shame in his mind in his heart (he should have been the one to choose not be chosen not him not like that he was a prince his father his father was _king_ he should have chosen) and he takes a chance

his lips are cold

cold and hard, it's too hard to move them it takes thought

the boy's lips are feverish

too warm too hot sickly heat sickly smothering heat that's hard and unyielding and threatening and aloof and angry and it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it didn't work it didn't work

the boy breathes in a heavy sigh a breathy sigh a sound and a sigh all the way from his toes and the bottom of his soul and melts –slowly—into—the other

he removes his lips to find another spot against his prey against his prize and just does that just does that between heartbeats between pulses and holds the tone and stretches the fear stretches the cold stretches the frigid sweat and icy silence for as long as he can, letting only the liquid pool pond soft splashing of his lips play a slow jazzy blues in the air like a tapping crystal like slow piano in the empty mansion made of snow in his bones like a solo like a tune slow small kisses young kisses little messy touches in between heartbeats and the slightest brush of tongue against teeth and shy and childish and little baby kisses

he pulls back a second a heartbeat in normal time and looks into the eyes of his prey the eyes of his prize the dark depths where whole wars are raged and fought and massacred and beings succumb and beg and plead and die in those darks in those depths of power and hate and fire-

-and the boy smiles like an idiot

His power drops dramatically, and he faints unconscious and tired and dead asleep in the other's arms on the other's chest and passes out.

It is very quiet.

Normal time returns.

"Well, _fuck_ it _all_.

~~~~


	4. Are You Thinking What I'm Thinking?

Disclaimer:  Yes.  I have lots and lots and oodles of money, and I have bought DBZ.  Wahahaha.  Bow before me.  Yeargh.

~~~~

Are You Thinking What _I'm_ Thinking Style

He squints and frowns, blinking his eyes painfully against the light.  He turns his head and tests his neck carefully, moving in stages and interrupted jerks to a sitting position.

//Ow.  Must've fallen asleep with my head against the wall.  Or on my textbooks again.  But the light-//

Vibrant yellow light hits his eyes from directly above.  It was noon.

The boy blinks a few times in confusion, grips the grass in his fingers, turning and squinting against the glare to look at the trees that surround him.  He absently rubs the bridge of his nose, attempting to soothe the aches in his legs.

His socks are wet, his clothes in rags, and he begins to realize that the aches and pains in his body are from bruises and cuts.  

//What am I going to tell Mom?  Actually…what happened to me?  _Something_ happened to me…and I'm not covered in blood.  That's good.  That's defin-//

He's startled when he sees the look on Vegeta's face.  He never got looked at that way.  //Not even _Dad_ gets looked at _this_ badly, what did I do?  What…//

Burning murdering hatred and undisguised profuse contempt and revulsion.

//Oh no.  I didn't…I didn't, hurt, anyone else…right?//

He was so sick he felt like vomiting.  

//He's afraid.  He's actually fucking _cringing_ like some beaten bitch the idiot and I haven't even _begun_ to beat his ass yet.  That would be fun.  That would be a _lot_ of fun, and the asshole deserves it.//

Vegeta frowns.

//He hunts like a professional, like a _true_ Saiyan and now he's afraid.  He fights beautifully, and now he's _afraid_.  Goddamned Kakkarrott and his fucking up.//

The boy looked blankly at him in confusion.

//Maybe I should say something.//

Vegeta glared.

The boy jumped.

Vegeta snarled in frustration.

//The _hell_ the pussy didn't remember, he remembers damn well, the whelp just can't break his little innocence act.  Mommy's little lamb in the day and some bedeviled hell-sent slut at night.  Well screw _that_.  Either you are or you aren't, ass hole, but I'm sure as hell not letting you play both.  You wanna try and claim a Saiyan Prince you'd better have the balls to back it up.//

Long, predatory and vehemently _pissed_ strides had Vegeta at Gohan's side on the ground in a second,

//Oh dear oh dear oh dear he looks very mad.//

//What a goddamned pussy.  But with the brains still to look at my neck.  You remember, ass hole, you remember what you did to me.  Not as stupid as you want to be wuss.//

Vegeta hauled the boy up by his collar, what was left of it, and simply holds him at eye level.  Of course, this does mean that the boy's legs are a bit bent under him thanks to the huge size differences.

Picture the two.

One of bronzed skin and viper-like eyes, jaw clenched and bottom lip pulled back just enough to show the sharp canines.  He is _undoubtedly_ hostile and ready to follow through with that conviction.

The other is noticeably younger, with a more delicate bone structure and milky skin, eyes wide, a little frightened and baffled.  His jaw is sharp his lips are pressed together; his lips are far too red.

One aspect keeps the two from completely filling the roles of the terrified and furious.

The younger holds the optimistic belief that everything will resolve itself given time, no matter how bad it is, it would all really be Ok.  If necessary, he would make it Ok.  But it would really all be Ok.

The older holds dread.

//Dammit.  There had to be a clear defining of dominance, the strong and the weak; not just in a bond, but at _all_ times.    Not that there would _be_ a damn bond or anything _resembling_ it.  I'm in charge and _he's_ not, and I'm not going to let that go otherwise.  I'll  break the brat's teeth before that happened again, kill him if I have to.  Because the blood was wrong.  That shouldn't have happened.

But if the blood had been right…if he'd actually…//

Vegeta snorted.

//If the blood had been right he would have fucked that little boy-girl and been done with it.  And would've left _me_ out of the whole mess.//

The boy swallowed nervously and tried not to flinch let his eyes dart.  

//Why is he so close?  Why am _I_ so nervous?  Sure he's mad, but he's always mad, he's Vegeta, so what's with me?  Why is he so close, he's too close, this is really, really weird.  No.  Beyond weird.  Paranormal.  Yeah.  He…he smells funny…what//

The boy blinks a bit, and leans forward a smidgen, causing Vegeta's eyes to widen a bit.

//Wow, he really does smell different up close, really… _distinctive_, I guess.  Lots of sweat, a little sickly, and blood in his clothes, and on his skin.  An acrid, sharp _light_ smell, ozone, lightening or…a ki attack?  A fight?  Did we fight?  I think we did.  Why?  But he's really close though, really close, so close and I can almost touch him, just reach out a _tiny_ bit and I can touch his skin and his hair and his eyes…his eyes are--//

The boy's face is wrenched to the side as he's struck and he is dropped to the ground.

The older man is glaring at him sullenly.

//I can read your mind boy.  I know every thought in your head; it's run through my head too.  Don't you dare fuck with me.//

The boy looks startled, but not hurt or particularly shocked.

//What?…//

The older man takes to the air without a second thought, gone in seconds with only a faint vapor trail tracing the way.

Without thinking, without breathing, Gohan jumped into the air to watch him go.

~~~~~~~~~


	5. Notes 1

~~~~~~~~~

Note Taking Style 1

"Damn."

A.1.   I am worried.

2. He's going to come after me.

3. I _hate_ being worried.

4. I should kill him.

5. I should've killed him _already_.

5.1 I don't want to.

5.2 Why?

5.3 It would be a waste of Saiyan blood and potential.

5.4 Better for me, the boy doesn't use it anyway.

5.5 But he has it.

5.6 So?

5.7 He's one my race.  One of the last.

6. He might not understand what's happening.

6.1 So?

6.2 Of course he doesn't understand.

6.3 He can't be blamed.

6.4 Yes he can.

7. The phase might wear off.

7.1 It might not.

7.2 The blood is mixed, it's unreliable.

8. I should _still_ kill him.

8.1 That's been discussed.

8.2 It's not an option.

8.3 Why?

8.4 Because I _said_.  Fuck off.

9. I'll beat the hell out of him next time he comes.

9.1 The chemicals make him stronger.

9.2 It's chemicals.

9.3 I can drug him out of his mind.

9.4 He's already out of his mind.

9.5 What if the chemicals begin to affect _me_?

9.6 Like hell, _if_, what happens _when_ it _does_?  The bite has already catalyzed htem. 

9.7 I'll be prepared.

9.8 How?

9.9 Fuck you.

"Fuck me."

"Screw this."

B.1.   Fuck this.  

2. I'm not running.  

3. Bastard.

~~~~~~

Thank you so much to the people who are reviewing, it really means a lot.  This is the rare VegetaxGohan pairing, so your support really does mean a lot.  

Standard Disclaimer applies, not mine.  

This fic is dedicated to Imp.  Or the first chapter is, anyway.


	6. Speech

Hello.  Err.  This is the _last_ time I post anything without checking to see if the format holds through, I'm so sorry about that to everybody, readers and especially archivers.  I bet this little development played merry hell with you guys especially.  The last edition of this chapter had some…teething problems, so I'm posting the new one up.  

Yeah.

-Yeah.

-Okay, here we go.

Hallo.  This is the author.  

Disclaimer: not my characters.  Warning: yaoi, swearing, odd tidbits of science.  Muchas gracias to Andriod 71 for keeping such a close eye on the score, much appreciated.

I've never done song-fics or playwright style before except in accordance with the Blue Seeress, bear with me, yes?

~~~~~~

Songfic Style, With Slight Humorous Irony on the Side

_There was a boy,_

_A very strange,_

_Enchanted boy_

-Do you have any fucking idea what you did?

-Well, that _is_ why I-

-Shut up and figure it out smart-ass.  You're in puberty, changing, makes sense that your two chemistries are clashing with each other.  The point of _this_ changing is to have _sex_, you follow?

-Eh-

_They say he wandered very far, _

_Very far, _

_Over land and sea_

-Why do you think you killed the bitch?  Because you were trying to hunt and mate her, and you killed her in the process.

-Don't _talk_ about her like that!

-Sit down and shut up boy, you wanted to hear it, now take it!  

-I don't _care_!  Don't you _dare_ talk about her like that, you don't have the right!  

-Like hell I don't have the right, I have all the right I _need_.  I never said it was going to be _nice_.  Now sit _down_.

_A little shy, _

_And sad of eye, _

_But very wise, _

_Was he_

-Don't talk about her like that.  It wasn't her fault; it wasn't her fault at all.  It was mine.  I…kil—hurt her.  On accident.  I didn't…Because—because I _liked_ her??  You're not _really…_

-No kidding.  Love sucks.

_And then one day, _

_One magic day _

_He passed my way_

-…So why are you helping me now?  Why now, you never cared before, as long as I left you alone and gave you something to laugh about.  Why don't you just leave like you did before…nothing can bring her back now.  We already brought her back once with the Dragon Balls…we can't do it twice….You can quit sneering at me, you know.  I've got the idea.

_And while we spoke _

_of many things_

-Boy.

-Go away.

_Fools and kings_

-Hn.  You think I _enjoy_ listening to you prove your ignorance?  You're still changing.  It won't end now, even if your original prospect is gone.  You've made sure of that.

-Dad never went through this…

-Kakkarott got his mate early.  If you would call that harpy a mate.  There wasn't need.  

-_You _never went through this.

-Hn.  How would _you_ know?

-…

_This he said to me_

-Your body still demands a chosen.

-I don't want anyone else.  I won't _hurt_ anyone else.  

-So what?  Who cares what _you_ want?  Your body's in charge, you're just along for the ride.

-I don't care what _it_ wants, I'm me and _I'm_ in control.  And I say no.

-Nh, if you're going to _whine_…think of it as, extreme growing pains, or whatever ningen excuse you want.

_-Saiyan_ growing pains.

-Don't you even _dare_ whelp, you don't even realize how damn lucky you _are_.  You never bitched about being Saiyan when it saved your life brat.  So shut up for once, if you can get that through your skull.

-You sound like my mother.  

_The greatest thing, _

_You'll ever learn_

-…Your body has already made arrangements.  It doesn't give a damn about what _you_ want.  You're really not that important right now.  It's chosen another, one eventually you'll hunt and try to claim—permanently.  

-You make it sound like I'm at war…And what do you mean, 'chosen another'?  I don't love anybody else like that, I just loved _her_!  I won't kill anybody else, not for this, it's not worth it, and nothing on earth or otherwise can make me.  There isn't anybody else, and there won't _be_ anyone else!  I loved her.

-Are you always this stupid or is today special?  Your body has _already_ found another, it's been _done_!

-How would you know?

_Is just, _

_to love_

-Because it's me, bitch.

_And be loved_-

_-WHAT!!_

_In, _

_Return_

-And I'll blast your fucking head off before I let you touch me!

-But you're a guy!

-No shit, ass hole.

-I can't—You can't—It's not really—_What?!?_

-Idiot.

~~~~~~

Short Playwright Style

Gohan:  But I don't love you!

Vegeta:  Good.

Gohan:  But, but—Vegeta-san, you can't leave it like this!

Vegeta:  Of course I could; it's _your_ problem, not mine.  

Gohan:   But, but, but if you're a part of it too, like you said, I chose—you can't _really_ do nothing!

Vegeta:  Who said I was going to?

Gohan:  You've got a plan?!

Vegeta:  Hn.  Of course.

Gohan:  What is it?!

~~~~~

Intermission:  General Birds and the Bees Lecture with Alien Savage and Erotic Changes

~~~~

Mutated Screenplay Style

Gohan:  Wait a sec, how do I know you're telling the truth?  You could be making this whole thing up for all I know.

The older man gives him a Look, The Spawn of Kakkarott Look, and pulls down the neck of his bodysuit to the shoulder.  There is a green-plum colored bruise with indents in two semi-circles. 

It was, quite possibly, the greatest insult the older man had given the younger in the past two days.

The younger man's jaw drops comically, the look of horror and shame on his face palpable.

Gohan:  But, but, you're a _guy_!

Vegeta(mutters):  Bloody hell…

Vegeta rolls his neck and massages the bridge of his nose.  He freezes when he realizes whom the gesture is from.  The boy.

Vegeta:  No _fuck_ kid.

Gohan:  But if the point of, of, of heat is to ah, um, sex, than reasonably it's for reproduction and since we're both males then offspring isn't viable…Isn't it?

The older man says nothing.

Gohan:  Vegeta-san?

Silence.  

The older man seems no more pissed than usual, just superbly in wonder at the complete stupidity of his companion, and the boy catches a fragment of irritation and impatience, and takes that for a negative.

Gohan:  And I don't see why I would choose _you_-

Vegeta:  I'm not the one whose dick has a free lease on him, but you can _stay_ that way if you want half-breed.

Gohan:  _No_, no I didn't mean—Gomen nasai Vegeta-san, it's just that I can't figure out why I picked you _specifically_, I mean you're um, _handsome_ and striking and everything—

The boy blushes and rubs the back of his neck.  

The man's lips curl up and he looks beseeching for any distraction other than the sight before him.  

Gohan:  But you're a guy.  Very much so.  And so am I.  Too.  And, you're married.  Kind of.  More than I am, anyway.  And I've never been, um, _physically_ attracted to males before, and it would be logical to think I would look for another girl first, even if there were a chance she might not be strong enough for, uh, biological purposes, shall we say?  It's not like there would be much point in a male—um, liaison anyway, right?  I mean that if---but I was mad at you.

The boy pauses, rethinks, and looks up at the elder, meets his eyes openly, even a little accusingly. 

Gohan:  I was, wasn't I?  I was furious.  Yeah, I mean that never…You had me that angry, and that doesn't happen very often.  

The boy pauses, scrutinizes his memories and emotions for the first time, analyzing and scooping through his soul a lot deeper than he's usually has to or wants to.

Gohan:  I was…I was going to kill you, when I caught you.  I remember, I remember thinking that, how it would make everything…Ok.  But then—

The boy's eyes unfocused, and he continues to talk while thinking.

Gohan:  What?  What then?  I guess, then…we started fighting…You were strong.  Almost as strong as I was.  You, you challenged and that didn't happen…Tallying the facts, we're both nearly Saiyan, and the main point is off spring… with the Saiyan obsession with strength only a mate who was never equal or greater in strength could guarantee that the next generation would carry on the genes like lions do—Evolution by natural selection, Darwinism in the making.  And none of the girls, no _human_ female would be strong enough to really _challenge_ me, not competently.  I mean like you said my blood is mixed but it makes—Dende.  I _did_ choose you.  And not Videl because she wasn't strong enough.  That was the point of the hunt, that was why I killed her, because of—many predators kill off the weak of their race, lions a prime example, even eat their cubs or the cubs of other males at times to ensure their own survival and superiority and keep the gene pool efficient, take their territory—

Vegeta:  You _have_ to make it sound like some damn ningen _textbook_, don't you?

Gohan:  Huh?

Vegeta:  So you did mean it.

Gohan:  What?

Vegeta:  The mark.  The _mark_ that you tried to claim _me_ by, a Saiyan Prince, brat, what the hell makes you think you can pull it off.

Gohan:  Well?  What makes you think I haven't?

The boy's voice is serious, his eyes steady, words deliberately blunt.  He's completely sincere.

The older man falters a second, but recovers quickly.

Vegeta:  Like hell you have, brat!  I told you I'd break your neck before-

Gohan:   I don't want to.

Vegeta:  Liar!  If you didn't mean it you wouldn't have come after at all.

Gohan:  You made me angry.  That doesn't happen very often.  That's really something, so it caused a fraction in judgment Vegeta-san.  And I didn't know what I was doing.

Vegeta:  Really.

Gohan:  Yes.  Really.  

Vegeta:  Did it damn fine for someone who didn't know what he was doing.

Gohan:  Thanks.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dialogue Style

-The chemicals are messing with your head, so if you get drugged up enough for a long enough time you won't feel the effect, and if you do then you'll be too far away to maim anything intelligent.  I would stick you with your father, but the fact that he's pure Saiyan would also affect you.

-You're going to drug me?

-What did you _think_ I was going to do, listen to you babble until you passed out?

-No, but I didn't think you were going to drug me.  What is it?

-Something the woman gave me.

-You _told_ her?

-If I did?

-I-_but_-What did she _say_?

-I didn't tell her.

-Oh, good…Then you shouldn't have led me on like that; it wouldn't kill you _not_ to be a jerk _all_ the time.

-Damned if I change it for _your_ benefit…Hn, you look like a fucking Ningen Christmas tree, the way you blush.

-No I don't.  I don't have any green pigmentation.

-…They would have torn you apart on Vegeta-sei.

-I don't believe so.

-You show your feelings far too easy.

-I think I would've torn _them_ up first.

-You'll be stranded in the Artic, away from people, animals…the machines you get such a thrill out of molesting…and _me_, which is most important.  You'll have food and housing in capsules.

-Will you be there?

-No.

-Can I come see you?

-_No_.  That's the _point_, to keep you away from me.

-Oh.  Are you going to come see me sometimes?  To check if the pills are taking effect?

-No.

-Oh.  What about-

-Understand, boy.  If you come back early, I'm going to kill you.  I don't want you close to me, I don't want you anywhere near the same _vicinity_ I am.

-But, I'm not going to-

-Fuck me?

-No!  No, nothing like that, I just don't want to--be alone, I guess.

-You want a security blanket and bottle while you're up there?

-No.

-…

-… 

-But, I guess that's the point right?  To be alone.  And it's only for a little time, a couple of years tops, and I could probably get some serious training in.  The Artic should be good for that…But I guess since I'm a Christmas tree sometimes I'll blend right in, right?

-…

-And um, yeah…anyway, I'll get over it eventually, and it'll be over and nobody else will get hurt, and I'll be alone and it'll be cold and you'll be here and safe and warm and everything will be fine.  And then things can go back to being the way they were.  Normal, right?

-…Whatever.

-So I'll get ready.  Oh, and I wanted to thank you Vegeta-san, for everything.  I mean, you really didn't have to, and I know you really didn't want to, but you did and that's what's counts, so, yeah.  Thank you.  I really, really owe you big for this.  

-Hn. 

~~~~~~~


	7. Clean Narrative

Hi!  It's me again!  Neato huh, I bet _you_ thought I was somebody else.  That's ok, I think I'm somebody else a lot of the time anyway, and sometimes I don't exist either.  Ok.  Love you!  Oh.  Fun?  Yee haw.  

~~~~~~~

Narrative Style

Gohan reached the Artic in the next two days-in the morning when he was supposed to be at school-with a week's worth of clothes, a few personal items including a scratched CD player and couple notebooks and texts, all in Capsules, and a Capsule house that Vegeta had shoved at him.  

He never really said a formal good-bye to his mother, and she had never learned the result of Videl, so saw no reason to mind if her son was a little more absent-minded than usual and keeping more time away from home, blaming it on the vapors of puppy-love.  

He hadn't disillusioned her, though it was getting harder and harder to smile at her gentle teasing and insinuations.

He avoided his father and Piccolo, partly on Vegeta's advice, partly on his own shame.  It wasn't difficult or suspicious at any rate, with Goku's sporadic training schedule that sometimes kept him lost in the wilderness for weeks on end.

In the end, the one who had the _best_ idea that Gohan wasn't going to be back for a while was Goten.  

Gohan had tried to keep the tone light, wincing when the panic and fear started to flow into the younger one's eyes, and exchanged a vow of secrecy for a promised return.  

He never let out _why_ he was going, despite Goten's pleads and lucid probing, and wound up sleeping in the same room with him like they had when Goten was still a toddler.

Gohan had agreed readily to the sleeping arrangements, grateful for the company and tactile comfort and filial love and acceptance. 

For the first time, Gohan began really wondering why _he_ had to be the one going into seclusion and isolation and not Vegeta.  Why was it _he_ who had to leave his family and home and life for a problem that seemed to now encompass the both of them?  Goten had been the catalyst to his new confusion, and from there the woolen ball raced wild through his mind.

At the time, Gohan discovered he had never even _thought_ to question or defy Vegeta.  He had believed and obeyed everything he had said at face value.  Even now, he couldn't quite bring himself to go and confront Vegeta, couldn't quite muster the nerve to cross swords.  

Not yet.  

Why?  Because of the biological impulses his condition demanded?  Residual fear of the homicidal prince?  The fact that he couldn't think of a decent argument?

At any rate…he didn't enjoy the knowledge his musings brought him.  

The only defiance he offered was because he wanted to stay by Vegeta's side, and that was hardly comforting.  But if he had agreed to his own exile so easily for Vegeta, what else could have Vegeta asked for that he wouldn't be able to deny?  

Perhaps nothing.  At any rate, he was practically defenseless against the Saiyan prince.  This, as he was painfully aware of, was a very bad place to be.  

He was in the Artic for 6 days before things came to a climax.

~~~~~~~

A/N:  This is the nice chapter.  This is the sweet, clean, "Look what I can do," chapter where everything fits pretty like.  The format, spelling, and grammar are all nice and neat as is me-ly possible.  The content is low and hopefully informative, and meant to clarify Gohan's sentiments towards the whole Bond thing.  

Bond.  James Bond.  International spy of bangs and booms, loose women, and martinis shaken not stirred.  

Martinis and comments sent à BANG!  gelfling8604@yahoo.com 


	8. Introspection

Warnings:  Angst abound.  Much, much musing.  Frolic much, yes?

I had lots and lots of fun putting this chapter together.  My finest combination of angst and humor yet.  I think, anyway.  It was so _easy_.  And it came out so nice.  The fresh grass really is the best, no matter what they say.  I've never really analyzed how Vegeta would feel about Gohan.  I've got the Gohan feelings pretty well done, but Vegeta is something of a mystery.  Hm.  Here's one in the start of unraveling the mystery.  

Font size and type is very important here.  This chapter is heavily dependent on the font coming up right.  There are size changes, as well as type changes (Times New Roman mixed with Arial mixed with Verdana and so on…), underlining, _italics_, **bold** **later on** and if they don't come out right, the chapter might sound a little funny.  Thereby be warned, yes?

Gohan is now in the Artic.  Vegeta is still in whatever country DBZ is based on (probably Japan).  That's pretty much all the important stuff you need to know.  You can arrange the time and days in however you want; it's not a real big deal.

_Vegeta's thoughts_

|| _Vegeta's **other** thoughts_||

// _gohan's thoughts always lower-cased_//

~~~~~~~

Journal Style

4-8-03

Putting My Thoughts On Paper to Sort Them Out:

Permanent.  

Permanent as in forever permanent?  With him?  I don't have anything in common with him, we don't along real well, but we don't clash like him and 'tousan either.  The closest we've ever really been, to me at least, was when he was crushing my face under his foot on Namek.  

Not exactly the firmest cornerstone to build a real affable relationship on.

I know…after Dad…he tried…but that time it was me who screwed it up.  It was…so, so much.  Too much.  I know it wasn't the first time he'd…left here, like that…but I wasn't aware the first time until right before he came back to us, and this time I knew it was permanent.  

This time I understood what had happened.  What it all meant.  He couldn't come back.  That's what I thought, what I was so afraid of.  This time…it was really all my fault.  That time, I mean.

An endless waltz when he stomped on my foot.

I'm just starting my life, with a mind like mine I can be _anything_, do anything; I can go back into space, not to fight but to learn.  To grow, to help humanity, to _do_ something that I could put my name on it and say "I did that."  I wouldn't have to hide this achievement, and everyone would know, and I would have finally done something that _meant_ something.  Not like everything else, this one would really _count_.  I could do something that was a little selfish and feel good about it.  If I wanted to, I mean.  

And…nobody could tell me I was wrong.

I could build a ship with Bulma, build a _better_ ship than Bulma's, and let the world and my family know there's more than _one_ genius on the planet.  I'm more than just a mass of muscles that blushes damn it, I want to _show_ them.  Not even Mom knows.  Nobody believes.  

Permanent.  I could do anything.  Forever.  With him.  I close my eyes and swallow hard.  

No.

I deserve more than this.  I worked hard for what I have in my head; I want what's mine.  Is it so wrong to want that?  To prove what I know I can do?  To get the renowned I've earned, the reward that is my _right_?

…Damn.  Now I sound like him.

I always hated how he was arrogant.  So outspoken and brash.

Really.  It doesn't sound real sincere, but I'm not just saying that, I _resented_ him for it at times.  I'm not real passionate about it, since I really don't think he would change if he even could, and showing annoyance would only encourage him and target myself.

There was no point then.  

There's, really, not any point in getting angry about it now, but I notice it sharper now.  Or I think about it now more.  Notice…him…something.  

Something like that.  Yeah.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drugged Up Style

Ack.

Ergh.

_Save me save me save me save me_

He laughs out loud, staring blearily at the wet ceiling.  

Is it raining inside or is it raining inside on the outside?  Is it raining!  IS IT RAINING!!!!

_rain rain rain blain blot shmook zary vary in the rain main jane_

He grins manically, and wiggles his foot.

His head doesn't hurt anymore, it's rolling around somewhere on the leaves.  

He'll look for it later.  

_Later later later mate matey sonny sunny jim jimboy ya-eee!_

Sometimes, early in the morning, you need those extra bits of information.  This side up.  This side up.  Vegeta.  This side up.  Bastard.  Come back.  Early in the morning.  I hate you.  Early in the morni-

Come back to me,

~~~~~~~~~~~

Advanced Journal Style

;p   ^_^    L      ;)                     0_0  L  *_*    

:p  J                            0_0    

//////////////\\\\      0_0              L                                   x___x

                               x___x                                              ////

My fingers are hard like tree bark and cold, rough all over.

It hurts when I move them and It hurts when their touched.  

He's all I can think about.  

He told me to go.  He told me to go.  He was going to kill me if I didn't.

He didn't say I'd die when I did.  I don't want to endure more.

I've endured so much.  It hurts.  Like never.  I don't want it.  Not this.  Different.

Everything hurts.  Stupendous.

He looked at me before I left.  Not when I left but when I left _him_.  

He looked at me and he wouldn't change his mind.  Wouldn't change his mind.

Damn it my dad may have been the one that dies and comes back, one of the walking dead but _he_ acts like…not even the dead.  

He's a monster.  I wish he were dead.

~~~~~~

Narrative Interlude Style

He screamed.

It was high, bleeding, raw sound, full of frustration and refutation and pain and rage and pain and anger and pain and hunger.

A hunger so ravenous and constant that the very sky seemed to shrink away from him, as if it feared being devoured or sucked into the void he harbored. 

In rhythm to the tremble and volume of his voice, the ground trembles and darts away from him like a ton of sandy rabbits bursting from their burrows, ears laid back in fear.  The air ripples and vortexes like water in a hurricane, twisting and forming fish scales of calm and chaos with the debris and clear air.

Phenomenally, painfully, inconceivably, his voice goes higher, reaching and passing the level of steel on steel, of radio static, reaching the level where humans can here nothing but the ping inside their own heads and vibrating eardrums and he goes no further.  

There is a 'whoosh' sound as air swims back to fill in the vacuum left by his energy.  He breathes in once before he stops hovering in the air and falls regretfully to the ground.

He lays still, his face slightly buried in the ground, and pulls in a casual, relieved breaths, until his respiration evens out.  

He opens his eyes, but does not move.  He eyes the destruction almost absently, deadpan, and closes his eyes slowly and tightly.

"_He doesn't-_"

Then he begins to cry.  It's nothing dramatic or particularly painful or even vaguely sincere.  It's actually rather casual, in fact, just moisture running down his face from his eyes, his face worn and silent.

Very quiet, all in all.

But it's there.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Narrative Interspersed with POV Style

_Wicked, __wicked child.  Sentences?  What __for???_

_Hn.  Tired._  

_Hit him wi__th a table because __he wouldn't stand still.  Wouldn't __stand still.  Moving._

_Everything's cha__nging.  Everything._  

_Where are __you?  Why can't I __see?_

He was going insane, his head and eyes turning to every twitch and shadow cast by the couch and the lamp.  

The lamp was swinging but only because he hit it.  Hurt it.  Kill the lamp.  Kill the light.

So he did and now his skin was leaking.  He'd been scoured by molecule slicing shrapnel and scalding daggers of light and ki without a scratch.  

His skin was leaking.  

He was getting weaker.

_He moved like a wolf.  He stalked everywhere, not strutted or _**_stu_**_pid just a measured __controlled pace a little __smo**o**ther and faster and __silent than usual that could __turn into a sprint__._

_He was always __hunting, even if it was __just Saturday.  He studied __prey not __people, studied __rivals not __equals._

"which one am i?  why can't I see you?  why can't i hear you?  where are you, stay with me…"

_Hurts._

_My throat __hurts.  Am I __sick?  My face is burning.  My head's too big my __fingers too small why is the __floor so bright there's __light coming out of the floor.  It's too bright.  It hurts my eyes, __hurts my mind, it's too bright it's __nagg__ing__ nag at my brain._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Id vs Ego Style

The woman was getting suspicious.  

The boy, his offspring, was becoming worried.

The baka bastard had already spoken to him.  

That was a temporary fix.

God knew how long that would last.

…The boy's scent was fading.  

But it was still just as clear.

*

_||Why are you fighting?||_

_That's what I do._

_||How long can you fight?||_

_As long as I have life._

_||You could always take him…||_

**_No_**_.  _

_||Why not him?||_

_He's afraid.  He doesn't deserve me.  He wouldn't know what to do.  He's afraid of me, and he really didn't choose me.  He doesn't have the courage.  He's _weak.  

_||He did claim you though.  Strong enough.||_

_A fluke.  And…anything…I did…would be refused.  Rejected.  _

_||Is that all?||_

_No…I really just don't like him._

_||Why? ||_

_…Envy.  His power.  His innocence.  His home.  His family._

_||Yet Kakkarott-||_

_Is not innocent.  Not dark, yet not pure.  If it were him, who had tried to claim me…he wouldn't have left.  He wouldn't have listened.  _

_||Rape? ||_

_…Perhaps.  Perhaps not, he doesn't have the stomach for it.  The bastard is Saiyan yet; the brat is not._

_||They boy left.  He'll do what you want. ||_

_He's weak.  He's a child.  He's ningen bastard sired by an idiot on a backwater planet without pride or real strength.  His power is an absolute fluke, a mistake of nature.  The boy's a freak.  He's too weak to be worth anything to me._

_||…Is he weak?  Or is he simply…loyal? ||_

_Loyal?_

_||Yes.  Loyal. ||_

_To what?  He doesn't acknowledge me-_

_||You've never asked.  Not really.  The father, yes, but not the boy.  He'll do what you want, even if he doesn't want to do it.  He did do what you wanted.  Even if it means him being hurt.  ||_

_Fear…_

_||Is it really? ||_

_…Yes.  It has to be.  No one's loyal.  Not to me.  Never to me.  They all worship Kakkarott, **including** the brat._

_||…Yet he didn't tell his father.  He told you. ||_

_He was ashamed.  He was afraid.  He was stupid._

_||Maybe he was just trusting. ||_

_Exactly.  He was stupid.  He is stupid._

_||His faith and loyalty are strong to those he gives it to.  Unbreakable.  What if he were to give it to you? ||_

_I would hurt him.  I hurt everybody.  It's what I do._

_||He is strong. ||_

_Not in his mind.  Not where I would attack.  Not where I would kill._

_||He is your mate. ||_

_No, he isn't._

_||He is.  Can you truly harm him?  Even if you wanted to?  Can you truly make him cry?||   _

_…_

_|| It goes against your culture.  It goes against your heritage. ||  _

_Mates are chosen openly!  Not in the dark!  Not unwillingly!_

_||…True…||_

_…_

_||…Were you really unwilling? ||_

_…I-_

"Vegeta!  Vegeta are you alright?!  What are you doing on the floor, _omigod! _ You're _shivering_, you need a doctor right now!  What the hell is wrong with you, you idiot, why didn't you say you were sick!  Trunks!  Call a doctor right _now_, we've got to hurry--"

_…I don't remember.  I don't know._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second Speaker Point of View

Imagine lying in bed at night.  

It's sometime after midnight, you're going to wake up in about two hours, and you haven't gone to sleep yet.

Imagine staring at the ceiling, white except now it's gray because there's so little light, not even street or traffic or moonlight.  

Its just unanimously shadowy dark.  

Imagine lying with your arm across your stomach, where the coiled muscles and skittish organs are being burned by the hot blood in your arm.  

Your arm is burning.  

Your body…is burning. 

Almost like with a fever, because your head feels like it's being hammered with iron on the sides, above and in front of your ears, that relatively thin layer of skull bone.  

The hatchet-hammer pounds an irregular ditty, not even letting you predict and prepare for the next blow.  Your fingers pulse in tune to your heartbeat, your mortality, your blood, like a drunken Edgar A. Poe fantasy with writhing shadows and smirking, invisible demons.

Imagine grimacing at the feeling.  

It's far too introspective for your taste.  

The way you think, things inside you should stay that way.  Things inside other people, however, can come out if they're idiots or piss you off.  It amounts to the same thing.

Imagine lying there, feeling sick, feeling introspective, but above all furious because feeling any of those things is not what you do.  Feeling those weak emotions is something _other_ people do.  

Not you.  

You were made, molded, and born stronger than that.  And the humility of being sick needles you like iron fragments on your hands and legs.  And further more, you just don't like being sick.  

Period.

Imagine lying there, thinking that. 

Imagine lying there, pissed for a considerably long time, yet not doing anything about it.

Imagine of all the reasons, you might do that to yourself.

Imagine the shock, when nothing comes up.

Imagine next, something does.

You close your eyes again and fight.  You're going to have to; it's not your problem, well, it _wasn't _your stupid fucking problem, but you're the only one really able to fight.

The other's too weak.

But you knew that already.

You knew you couldn't count on him.

You know you can only count on yourself.

You can never count on anything else, because everything else changes.

But you knew that already.

Imagine considering ending it.

Ending him.

The idea has merit, and you're not really shocked by it.

On one hand you have embarrassment, pain, and growing sickness that makes you fight down vomiting after every meal and keeps you awake at night.  Every night.  Later it will cause you to pass out.  And much later after that, it will consume you.  Totally.  They'll have to beat you up, drug you up, and lock you up to keep control of you, because you won't have control of yourself.

You know these facts, but still you fight.  

You're not…certain of _all_ the facts yet, but you're not introspective.  And damned if you will be.

On the other hand you have his death.  A huge gap in defenses.  Further alienation of the natives, if that's still possible.  The wrath of his father.  Which might kill you.  The wrath of his mother.  Which will annoy you.  The wrath of the Namek.  That you'll win against.  

And then having to see him.  Having to touch him.  Having to be within visible, telepathic, audible, tactile, olfactory distance of him.  

And then having to kill him.

This stuns you longer than the others.

Imagine lying there, some stupid game going on inside your head and your brains being splattered over the walls, unable to ignore that, unable to ignore the flame in your spine, the cold sweat just behind your ears and shoulders that tickles and teases and not even having the strength to wipe it off.  

You who committed genocide.  You who destroyed planets.  You whose name was whispered among spaceports in fear and disbelief.

And you can't even wipe off sweat.

He's made you weak.

It hurts to move your body and _you haven't done **anything**_!

He's made you hurt.

He's made you weak.

You hate him.

You have reason.

The potential screams, pleads, cries for you and you can't turn away.  The power dances and flirts, and you can't turn away. You've hunted your whole life for something like this.  Someone like this.  The power rages like magic, like a demon; fierce, wild, irrational and uncontrollable.  

It's beautiful.  

It's everything you wanted.  

It's everything you deserve.  

The fear, the reverence, the mysterious godlike ability that should have been yours, that by birth and rank and blood _should have been yours_.  

You could have, you _can_—do _any_thing with power like that.  Even now, the desire still courses through you, beckoning.  

And he doesn't even understand it.

He's afraid of it.

He's afraid of it.

He's _afraid_ of it.

You can't believe it.  

You want it.

You need it.

With power like that no one could touch you.  No one could stand against you.  The boy was stronger than his father, could _be_ stronger than his father easily again, and with that power you could destroy him.  Your rival.  You could make him kneel down and lick your boots just like you always wanted him to.  And you could kill him.  Defeat him.  Humiliate him completely.  And it would be you.  World's strongest.  

Universal fighter.

Lord.

Messiah.

Ouji.

Ou.

Ultimate.

It would be you.

With power like that.

He doesn't have the drive for it; his life has been relatively peaceful, even with all the aliens who come crashing down from time to time.  He never lost family.  He never lost a home.  Everything he ever lost could be put back with a wish.  

Yours can't.  You have the drive.

You have the desire.

You have the base need and blatant ambition.

You're not afraid.  

You apologized to him.

Your first.

Your only.

Just him.

Of the baka.  Of the mudball.  Of the flaring hellfire power.  

It calls to you.

But you've never answered back.  

You've got your pride.  

You've always had your pride.

You may have lost your strength, you may have lost your home, you may have lost your people, you may have lost your life and you've even lost your name.  

You lost your name.  What it was.  What it meant.  Who you were.  What you were.

You lost it.

You've lost it all.

You've always had your pride.

You've compromised a lot, but in the end it isn't who was the strongest or the smartest or the fastest or just the _best_ that wins.  That isn't the way the universe works.  It isn't fair.  In the end it's the one left standing that wins.  Even if they never fought.  Even if they were cowards.  It's the one left standing who wins, because there's no one else to talk.  There's no one else breathing.

This isn't about fighting.

This isn't about winning.

This isn't about being the best.

This is about surviving.

They wouldn't know _anything_ about that.

Nothing.

None of them.

Nothing.

But you would.

You would know so much, if only they asked you.

And in the darkness, in the pain, you cringe.

You don't like to remember.

You don't want the darkness back.

You hate being introspective.

You aren't sympathetic because what the other guy wants is your death.  It's that simple.  That's all that matters.  That's all that's ever mattered.  The others wouldn't understand.  It's just you alone.  It's…always…just you alone.

Alone.

There.

And there, in that single moment of shame and vulnerability, that one single small insignificant second where your walls thin down to paper width…you feel his life pulse.

He's broken through.

He's here.

And you wince again.

The headache returns en force.

A tsunami of blood is wrecked inside your skin, inside your veins, and your fingers and thighs pulse and prick.

Silver on black, moonlight on skin, soft sanctuary shadow coolness in his skin and on his mouth and further down where the shadows hide.  Where the blood burns.

You hate him.

You hate him.

You hate him.

It sounds hollow, even inside the darkness behind your eyes.

You know he's been there.  He's been watching you.  He's been following you, smelling you, tasting you.  But he's never touched you.  He's never let you see him.  He's gotten good at hiding, good at hunting.  He didn't use to be.  He's gotten good, now that he's free.  

He's always _been_ good, but he's always hid it.  And now he isn't.  He's kept his ki down.  No big trick.  He showered before he came, so his scent is faint.  Light.  Barely noticeable.  Smart of him, it's how a hunter should be thinking.

But you don't need any of _those_ things to know where he is.

This pounding in your head tells you perfectly.

You always know where he is.

You're trying hard not to.

He's obsessed with you.  

Right now he's outside your window.

It's odd and infantile and perverse and assaulting.  It's humiliating.

You can't stop thinking about it.  You can't stop reacting to it.  

You feel exposed.  

You wonder how he tastes.

You try hard not to.  You fight against it.  You fight against him.  You fight against the pounding of your blood.

You know you're going to lose.  In the end.  You usually do.

But that doesn't stop you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:  I _really_ liked this chapter.  I fell in love with it, even.  Expect a few more excerpts like this, but not many.  I think it's kind of hard to follow, but I still like doing them.  

You live and learn, and then get Luvs.  


	9. Teaser Meat

Archivers welcome.  Just email first, kay?

Warnings: Err…yaoi.  And…angst!  And swear words.  Enjoy.

_italics should look like this_

_Vegeta's thoughts_

//_Gohan's thoughts_//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Teaser Style

His stomach hurled up like a fish in dirty water, and he breathes deep and pushes it out of his attention.  He had hoped to find some peace out here, but the buzzing inside his own head and blood, and the change of scenery, the subtle shift in smell and space proving more than enough to know him off his center.  He was so weak, so turned around inside himself it wasn't worth mentioning.  He didn't want to think about it.

And that damn onna wouldn't leave him alone.  

Damn it all.

His body heaved, and he fought to keep himself inside of it.

He was fighting a lot lately.

He wasn't getting much stronger though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Singing and Flashback Saga Style

…

…Emphasis on Saga Style

"A thousand years, a thousand more…A thousand times a million doors to eternity," a thin voice carries over the wind, the words and tune scattered and cut on the currents.  The boy sings on, seeking company and change in the wasteland.

*

He couldn't remember if he made a promise, but he felt like he lied.

Gohan had spent most of the first day swimming and exploring with short, frequent interludes of daydreaming, as there was only so much he could with ice.  

Everything was pretty flat where he was, and Gohan's capsule house was placed on the earth after he had burned the ice and snow away.  It wasn't nearly as cold as it was in winter, the temperature keeping to a little above freezing.  Depending on how far he flew, he could find glaciers a couple miles high, and even the occasional herd of deer and the lone wolf, but Gohan was pretty much on his own.  

It was snowy, basically.  Snowy and gray.  The sun was caught in the interval between eternal day and eternal night, settling for a foggy constant twilight at all times of the day.  

It was easy to get lost too, because nearly hill and every valley looked like one another to his inexperienced eyes.  Adding to that, the sun never actually set or really moved, and it was never dark enough to tell where the North Star was.  He couldn't go too far before coming hopelessly lost.

Gohan had gone underwater searching for any signs of life, flying into the air and flaring his ki to SSJ sometimes for warmth before diving down again.  

After his throat began to ache and he couldn't feel beneath his knees he quit.  He found some electric blankets in the bedroom of the Capsule house, and was familiar enough with the model to know that they were hand-placed.  

Someone was looking out for him.

He used them every night from then on.

That was on the first day and night.

*

"I may have lived a thousand lives…a thousand times," he paused and took in a breath, "An endless turning stairway climbs," he murmurs as he scans the glaring white hills.  A blizzard was picking up; given another 15 or 30 minutes and it would be impossible to see or find anything for the snow.  

Good.  That was good.

*

He had broken the promise he didn't think he had made.  

He went back to West City.

He _had_ waited though—he tried not to think about it, and it wasn't until between the second day and third morning that he realized why he should, beside the obvious reason of seeing and avoiding Vegeta.

Gohan never told his mom he was going away.  So he went to go do that.

He'd meant to tell his mom, but then realized she wouldn't understand easily and wouldn't let him go again.  And _then_ he'd have to go without her permission and she'd be mad at him forever, and wouldn't let him back in when he _could_ come back.  Then he realized he could tell Goten to tell her, who would be playing with Trunks, because he was _always_ playing with Trunks and they were usually at Capsule Corp. 

He had stopped flying and meant to walk the rest of the way and it wasn't until he stopped and listened to his breathing that he realized he'd been running.  

Next he realized it was dark, sometime in the morning, and Goten, if here, would be asleep.  

And he realized Vegeta would be too.

He hadn't stayed though.  

He…it wasn't…He hadn't stayed.  What if Vegeta had found _out_?  What if he _saw_ him?

_//what if he does?  so long as I see **him…//**_

He hadn't stayed.

That was on the third morning.  In the early night dark of the second day, but still the third day.

*

"To a tower of souls..."  He pauses, the spacey blank expression fading a little for a more pensive one.  He blinks once, and then shrugs his shoulders.  What did it matter if the verses were out of order anyway?  

"I could shed another million tears, a million breaths…A million names but only one truth to face," he murmurs quietly, eyes still sweeping the immutable landscape.  
  


*

He hadn't actually _done_ anything. 

To anyone.  

Not the way Vegeta was stating. 

And he hadn't even _wanted_ to do anything, whatever Vegeta might say.

Gohan paused his thinking for a moment, considered, then plunged on ahead.  He was right.  He was right and Vegeta was wrong, and that was all that counted.  

Never could he even begin to _imagine_ to do _any_thing-like Vegeta was implying- with anyone, not even Videl and certainly not a guy.  

He missed Videl.  Whatever Vegeta might say, she was the one he liked, ever really, _really_ liked in almost-that-way.

All he had ever really wanted from her was a smile, a laugh.  She did have a nice laugh, when she was relaxed and not tense like always.  Sort of tinkling and—copper.  Bright copper.  Or magnesium.  Yeah, a magnesium colored laugh.  And she had ambition, a great deal of ambition.  

She had mastered flying way faster than anyone else he knew, and she wanted to be the best fighter ever, even better than him.  She lived for the challenge.  He liked that.  He had admired that.  He could relate to that.

And she had a sense of justice that had competed with his own.  She _cared_ about what happened to other people.  As long they weren't bothering him, Vegeta didn't care about anyone.

He'd never…he _had_ thought about kissing, but never really seriously.  If she wanted to.  But that was it.

He couldn't _envision _doing the—_other_ stuff with _anybody_, he wouldn't even _know_ about it if they hadn't made him take those classes in secondary school.  He'd spent most of the class time with his eyes averted while the other boys goggled over the pictures.  Color pictures, too.

And Vegeta thought he'd do it with him.  How?  

The thought disgusted him and puzzled him so much he stayed up for a long times at night thinking about it.  Wondering how it all worked, and where was the drive for it.  It was so messy and impractical, and how could anybody stop _cringing_ long enough to finish it.

That was on the first night and second day.

*

"I may be numberless…I may be innocent…I may know many things…I may be ignorant."  He pulls the electric blanket higher around his shoulders.  He is not wearing a shirt.

*

He missed her, but it really wasn't in him to mourn.  He would always remember, but he would never really mourn.  Ever since Piccolo went…and his father…

The thing with being open with _everybody_ was that you really weren't close to anybody.  Not really.  He had lost enough people to know that it hurt to make friends, to love people.  Even if they could be put back with a wish and a few words, it still hurt when they left.  Better if he kept everyone on the same affection-level.

His shyness gave him enough breathing and defensive space, and he was content to keep it that way.

Vegeta was right though, in a way.  Kind of.  Sort of.  In a way, after his fashion.  Well…not really, but it was hard to argue about anything with him.

But Vegeta was right about _one_ thing: The only way not to hurt anybody was to stay away.  

Gohan didn't want to hurt anybody.  He really couldn't remember hurting or hunting anything, but he knew he did.  Sometimes the blood was still warm on him when he woke up.  Sometimes there were pieces, shiny bits of pink and dark red.  Most of the times, he didn't bother to even look.  He didn't like to look.

He didn't remember 'hunting' Videl, like Vegeta said he had.  And he could think clearer now.  He really couldn't remember, but he could think clearer.  On the narrow swings between Heat adrenaline rushed clarity and drugged up muggy objectiveness, he could nearly do both.

He—could almost remember hunting Vegeta.  

Especially at night.

He had remembered fragments the fourth morning, like the memories were a dream, after spending some of the previous night on long _tall_ glasses of cold water and dozens and dozens of Bulma's pills, as many and as much as he could force down.  

He still woke up lost in the snow with his legs aching.  

He would wake up every morning after the third night outside lost, cold, and sometimes bleeding on either his feet or arms.  His throat was often raw, and his voice vanished. He felt sick, like he was coming down with a cold or pneumonia.

And he thought of Vegeta. 

He remembered running.  Running so quickly it was almost like flying.  He…didn't really remember what happened.  He wanted to know, but he didn't want to remember.  He remembered seeing shades of black and gray, and a glowing white light, a smell so strong…and red, almost.  A rusty, organic-metallic smell.  Iron.  Blood.  

He remembered smelling blood until he thought he was drowning in it and…he hadn't been disgusted.  He _should_ have been, but he still wasn't.

He had just felt…secure.  And relaxed.  That night, with the darkness and iron blood in his mouth and hair.

He couldn't remember _why_ he felt that way, couldn't find the logic or motives behind it, only that he liked it.  He found himself thinking it over more often.

That was on the drugged-up lucid part of the fourth day's afternoon, which found him pondering his own mind.

*

"Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands…Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands", Gohan shifts on his spot in the doorway in a more comfortable position to lean against it.  He sighs, smiles, and continues to watch the snow whirl.

*

Then there was the third night.  

Every night after it followed the same pattern, increasingly worse as time went on, but it was always the third night that stood out in his mind.  That's when it started.  

That's where it all began. 

Where it really hurt.

He had woken up in the middle of the night on the ice outside with only his socks on, icicles and bits of snow stuck in his hair and on his skin.  He didn't even have his drawers on, and his thighs and genitals were freezing and chafed by the ice and wind.  He wasn't exactly sure how he had gotten out there, or even how long he had been there, but Gohan had a pretty good idea of where he was trying to get.  To whom.

He had gotten lost on the way back to the Capsule house, his home, and couldn't even scrounge up the energy to fly.  It took him forever to find his house, and he had walked into it by accident.

He spent the following fourth morning on the living room floor, exhausted and drugged into unconsciousness interspersed with quiet musing and had awoken in the night in tears, a serious migraine, and his throat festering.  

He hadn't liked that.  

And he still went back into the night, into the snow in the fourth night.  He hadn't wanted to, kept thinking and fighting with everything he had, but he had still gone back into the cold.  Into the dark.

The attacks followed a certain structure, similar to hypertension or anxiety attacks.  Gohan would start blinking faster, his heart rate and breathing would go up and he would start pacing around the house, looking for something to do, scribbling doodles in his notebooks and fooling around in the kitchen, pacing from his room to the living room to the kitchen back to his room over and over again until he got lost inside his own small house.  

He would sometimes end up punching holes through the walls and nearly breaking down the door to get outside.  To run.  To run to what or to run away from what he wasn't sure, but he had to run.  He had to go.

He couldn't stop pacing.  He couldn't stop thinking.  He had no one to talk to, and it was so damn quiet with the only wind and the sound of his own voice to keep him company.  He was going to go insane like this.  Gohan didn't like talking to himself, it seemed wrong.  He was also bored and lonely beyond belief.

The silence chafed at his mind.  The cold chafed at his body.  The loneliness chafed at his soul.  Gohan was just chafed all over, including his balls from when they had been frozen over outside.

The pills took him out of reality, cooled his blood.  He didn't like being dependent on drugs.

Sometimes he was ravenous, and couldn't force himself to eat, and when he could he vomited everything he put down.  He was always hungry and rarely eating.  Vegeta had given him food.  He couldn't eat it.

Sometimes he was furious, blazingly _furious_ at nothing and sometimes he cried for hours on end.

He wrote in his notebooks a lot, doodled in the margins.

He'd feel the fire come on, and had awoke sweaty in bed or on the couch with a burning in his neck and limbs and a cloud lodged in his chest cavity.  He'd grabbed the pills as soon as he felt it coming, had chugged down the bottle and a lot of little white capsules had fallen to the floor, his hands were shaking that badly.  He'd spit a couple out of reflex, and had swallowed some.

He still went out, flying as fast as he could while the ice blew and cut into his skin, then he'd been dizzy and he'd fell, and he remembered putting out his hands to stop the fall.  He woke up some time later; half covered in snow and cold, and had dragged himself home after getting lost twice.  He fell _dead asleep_ all of the fifth day, waking up when he heard a sound repeated over and over again, like a telephone ringing.  It was his voice.  It was Vegeta's name.  Tears sat still on his eyes.  He wasn't sad at all.  He was just…tired.  

So very tired.

There he ended the fifth night, ebbing into the sixth morning, crying into the floor, lost inside the house Vegeta had thrust at him.

*

"I could be cannon food…destroyed a thousand times…Reborn as fortune's child…to judge another's crimes," he chants softly to himself, as a mantra.  He had mentioned before to—someone at school, the name escaped him now, that that particular lyric always reminded him of his father.  

They hadn't understood.

Gohan wasn't expecting them to.

*

He was tired.  

He was very tired of being lost.

So…

This was a new experience.  

His body was going through changes he didn't understand, and Vegeta should be here to see what was unusual and what wasn't.  Saiyan blood adapted quickly to new chemicals; Gohan had learned the hard way that no amount of aspirin could take away insomnia, no matter how tense he was about the upcoming test.  It was only a matter of time before Bulma's pills wore off.  And then he would go off again.

It wasn't his fault this was happening to him now, in this fashion.

His were Saiyan genes, and Vegeta had known about it before and he hadn't said anything because of apathy or for the pleasure of seeing Gohan squirm.  

So while Gohan was suffering in the ice and snow, Vegeta was living the high society life he liked.

Well, it wouldn't be just him that would suffer if something went wrong.  It would be everybody else too; Vegeta and Bulma (_mine_) especially.  He shouldn't have to take care of this on his own.  Vegeta should be here.  Vegeta should help him.  Vegeta should help him.

Vegeta probably wouldn't want to.

But Gohan could see his way around that.  There had to been lots of things Vegeta hadn't wanted him to do that he had, like saving Vegeta's life and talking to him and living and being stronger than him and making Vegeta apologize to him.  That one time.  When they had been more than mere equals, and Gohan had been in control and Vegeta hadn't.

_…like rain on crystal on air like snow on stars and space and dark the darkest beauties…_

Gohan blinked.

That was definitely something.

Vegeta was such a liar.

But Gohan was a liar too, and he and Vegeta both knew it.

Vegeta was _going_ to be with him, not to—_do_ anything of the physical nature, but just because he should just _be_ there.  

Gohan wanted him there.  With him.  What Vegeta did or said after wasn't important, as long as he stayed.  

But how to keep him?  How to manipulate him?  

Gohan tightened his grip around his knees, and rocked himself back and forth in the corner.  He breathed in deep, hard, and continued rocking.  

He had a good idea how, but going through with it was another thing.  This was Vegeta, after all, and he always got angry really easy, so it was always really easy to manipulate him _into_ getting angry, it was making him do what you wanted that was tricky.  Vegeta used the same tactic like pro, so he wasn't likely to fall for it, but Gohan was running out of options.  

He—wanted to, but he _didn't_ want to, except he did and he was _going_ to, only he wasn't, and in the late night darkness and dream reality, in the high chemical frenzy delirium fairyland asylum he lived in, he found himself in, it didn't seem so bad.

That was somewhere around 3 in the morning on the 6th day.  Or the 11th one.  Or even the  Bobth.  Or maybe around 3 at night.

Time had begun to blur.  

*

"Or wear this pilgrim's cloak, or be a common thief… I've kept this single faith, I have but one belief," Gohan breathed in deep, preparing for the big finale to the song, never mind that he was always a little-lot off key and rushed the final line.

*

The sixth night.

He really hadn't meant to go back.  He had planned it, but he really hadn't _meant_ it.

But it seemed like one minute he was outside the gates to CC and then he was climbing the gates with a stealth and agility and silence that was so completely alien to him it was frightening.  

No ki, no footsteps, not even his bones creaked or muscles clicked.  His clothes didn't rustle-he wasn't wearing much anyway-and the ground seemed to give him leeway, like it would a shade.  

Silent.  Smooth.  Completely.  

He was in the graceless age, a hybrid of races, the dominant of which didn't know the _meaning_ of quiet.  But…he wanted to see him.  Make sure he was OK.  Make sure he was still _real_.  

He just wanted to see him.  And he could be quiet for that.  He could be _anything_ for that.  He could do anything for that.

Somehow, he knew exactly where Vegeta was.

His hands pressed against the cool smoothness of the windowpane and stared in.  His skin was burning, his hands feverish and dry against the glass.

Vegeta slept shirtless and alone, the blanket thrown around his waist; face beautifully relaxed and tranquil, yet still regal.  His arms were curled in front of him, fingers curled and relaxed on the bed.  

Tinkering and a _tiny_ amount of ki and the window open silently, the boy leaning in and perched on the windowsill, quietly observing the muscles and ki-level of the man before him.  His nostrils flared, breathed in the scent of sweat and anger and Vegeta and age.  Of gray fatigue.  

He breathed it in and absorbed the sight with his eyes…and then entered.

He stepped in as silently as a thief, as a hunter as a tiger in the dark in the dark of the night hunting his prey hunting his prey stalking over the carpet 

through the dark through the shadows where he can't see you in the shadows in the dark and watching his face and 

don't let him see you _don't_ let him run(!), he can't run, don't let him see 

he's so beautiful he is mine he's mine he's mine now he wears my mark wears it open wears it so 

sleeping 

take him take him take him take him now while he can't run while he can't fight (but he _can_ fight, he fights beautifully, like a god) take him now now _now _NOW-

-but wait.

He didn't want to, not yet

--_NOW!_—

//_no_ //

_-!-_

//_wait_//

-what-

//_he will come_//

-why-

//_he wears my mark_//

-how long- 

//_he wears it open_//

-so-

//_for anyone to see_//

_-…mine-_

Gohan's eyes narrowed in thought, shining in the dark with a predatory shimmer, his actions momentarily paused.

-he will come- 

Gohan's temperature had dropped a bit, his head cleared, and his senses eased back into normal.  He shook his head, a bit surprised to be so close to Vegeta, halfway up on his bed.  He was…very close to Vegeta.

Gohan froze; his eyes locked on the other man who claimed to be his mate and threatened his life, the mate he himself had claimed in a rush of grief and anger.  And he had felt a rush of blood, heat, and memories.  

Darkness.  Fear.  Regret.

It had been the memories, ultimately, that had scared him to sense.

He looked at the lips the thin hard lips cold and unloving 

always 

they would never care 

they would never care 

but 

he remembered the feel he remembered the feel just barely of those lips the way they'd touched his and pressed his and the 

quiet piano silhouette against the moon light 

he remembered the feel just just just the 

feel 

the pleading the pleading the begging the hope and fear and he just barely 

remembered the hunger and fire great and _greater than his own_ but 

so _DEEPLY_ hidden it might take forever to take it out and dive in that wonderful sea of colossal desire

and he couldn't remember but he could and 

he wanted he wanted to feel those lips again he wanted it again and he could see the other's torso 

his skin 

his chest  that lay enticing and cool and 

his soul like fire

beautiful

deadly

matched so perfectly with his own

two demons 

one in the dark one in rough hard light

he was hungry his prey bore his mark it was his it was his and his alone and he could do it he could and the other would let him 

beg him just like he'd kissed him 

and he could pull the sheet down sheet down down to the ground and the floor and could see everything everything that _belonged_ to him everything that he wanted it was his-

-but-

-but he didn't know he didn't really know it wouldn't be the same what if, what if, what if,

if he really didn't know what if his own(mine) 

didn't know he was it wouldn't be the same if he didn't know 

it wouldn't be **_right_**(rape) 

he had to be taught he could be taught he was strong(the First) 

strong enough he was smart(worthy) 

he could take it and he would come to him come to him come to him 

in his arms 

in his bed under him 

in his body 

in his mind and soul and it would really be his come to him come to him given time give it time he will come

he will come

Flits and fragments ribboned past his mind, the dark gray blurry blueness and the light…piano playing a tune.  Jazz, or blues, but the style was almost classical.  

He looked down at Vegeta from his place _very_ close to him, and could smell his own scent strong in the room.

Vegeta would know he'd been there.

-let him he will come-

So it wouldn't matter much if he stayed a little longer.  Just a little.  So he could see him.  

Gohan sat on the floor next to the window after climbing carefully off Vegeta, and kept his eyes on him the whole time.  

He really would have to do something really nice for Vegeta later, something to pay him back.  This was an embarrassing situation for himself, supposedly attracted to another guy; he couldn't _contrive _what it was like for Vegeta, with his pride and dignity, to the object of his insincere affections.

--_no!—_

Without Vegeta, he'd probably still be hunting and killing things, be a complete slave to biology and hormones until his father stopped him, and Gohan tried not to think about that.  

The boys at school only had to worry about acne and squeaky voices.  He had one hell of a squeaky voice.  It burst people's head open.

Gohan blushed.

Vegeta was rubbing off on him, now he was even swearing in his head.  And that was a bit _too_ brutally practical to be _his _voice.  

But at least Vegeta hadn't told anyone yet; it would be too embarrassing for him to explain, Gohan hoped.  And he hadn't told his father.  Gohan would've known if he had.

He was pretty sure Vegeta didn't like him, and seemed a little disgusted with his preoccupation with his dad.

Vegeta was in love with, or attracted to anyway, Bulma (-mine!-), and except maybe being good with maths they had nothing in common and Vegeta really didn't like anybody else.

Vegeta yelled at him all the time for not training or exercising his power enough.  Gohan was pretty sure Vegeta didn't like him for not being aggressive enough, but he knew he could be aggressive enough in battle when he needed to.  

Vegeta knew that; he'd been on the receiving end once or twice.  Vegeta should like that.  A little, anyway.  Maybe not.  

Even if he didn't like him he was still helping him, going out of his way, and Gohan didn't have anybody else to go to, not even Piccolo.  He couldn't explain it, no matter how many times he had rehearsed it in his head before he had gone to Vegeta.  He just couldn't explain it to Piccolo.  

He couldn't face him anymore than he could face his father.  One of the things Piccolo admired about him was his innocence, his purity, and he wanted to keep that image as long as possible. 

With Vegeta, Gohan had nothing to lose. 

With Vegeta, Gohan was kind of safe.

Not much, but a little more than with his father or Piccolo. 

Vegeta didn't really admire anything about him that he let on, although he thought Gohan was too circumspect most of the time with the power he, Vegeta, didn't have.  

Vegeta knew he wasn't innocent; Gohan had caught Vegeta too many times smirking at him whenever he _really_ got pissed off and just started beating the crap out of somebody like there was no tomorrow.  

Occasionally, that aforesaid person was Vegeta, and he still thought the whole thing was funny as hell.  Vegeta saw him for what he really was; he had nothing to lose with telling him his secret.

If Vegeta hadn't helped him he'd really be screwed.  He really was the best choice, besides his herital knowledge.  His sarcasm helped keep things in perspective; Gohan kept worrying about falling into depression.  It was so _cold_ out here.  And quiet.  And he was kind of funny.  Not that Gohan actually laughed in his presence, but he thought about it later on.  

A part of Gohan's mind wondered if maybe he wasn't just analyzing just a little _too_ deeply, and instead fabricating facts that weren't really there.  He shoved that part away.  This was Vegeta, after all.  Gohan was safe.  

One couldn't really gloss over his good qualities, because he didn't _have_ many good qualities to begin with.  

One of the few people who actually said what he thought, and didn't worry about losing his innocence.  

If Vegeta actually _did_ something good, it was because he got something out of it, or just because he felt like it.  

Gohan and his dad…sometimes he wondered if they just did things because no one else would.  No one else felt like it.  Like taking out the trash.  

Saving the earth.  

Sometimes Gohan wondered if his dad and he did good things because it was just right.  Because they were trying to measure up to something.  Because maybe they were trying to prove to the earth that they weren't bad and they could be accepted.

And then Gohan would wonder why they wanted to prove they weren't bad.  What did it matter?  _They_ knew they were good, so why did they have to prove it to people who didn't really know them?

And then Gohan knew that he wasn't supposed to be having these types of thoughts.  Goku wouldn't approve much.

Vegeta never tried to measure up to anything.  He just wanted to be the strongest.  He didn't care about being good.  He didn't care about being accepted.

They had both helped and awed the gods, but the gods had never really helped _them_.  They said they couldn't, but then they had never really _tried_ either.

Sometimes…sometimes Gohan thought Vegeta wasn't afraid of anything.  His dad wasn't afraid of anything either, and Gohan wasn't afraid either.  Except his mom.  They were both terrified of his mom.

Gohan balanced his chin on his arms wrapped around his knees, his legs cramping because of the tight jeans he had forced them into.  He didn't know _what_ he was thinking when he put _those_ on... But anyway.   

He wasn't much afraid of Vegeta.  He was pretty sure Vegeta didn't like him.  He was pretty sure that Vegeta wasn't afraid of him, because he wasn't afraid of any—his eyes darted to the bruise on the other's neck.  

—Vegeta wasn't afraid of anything.  Vegeta was always in control.  Vegeta always knew what to do, and it usually meant killing someone or blowing something up or shouting really loud. 

He was completely dependent on Vegeta for everything, which he recognized as unhealthy and risky and a little debasing, but he wasn't sure what to do about it.  Vegeta encompassed his whole world now.  And he was just a minor footnote in Vegeta's book of upstart brats.

That…wasn't right.  It was unequal.  

Gohan's eyes narrowed.

It should be made right.

Vegeta was his only contact to the outside world now.  His hero who killed innocents.  His angel who gave the gods the finger.  According to Vegeta himself, his chosen.  His mate.  His lover.  His wife.  

But Vegeta was a guy.  

This was definitely a dividing factor.  Gohan wasn't homosexual.  He was barely _hetero_sexual.   Only a few and significant differences kept him from being _asexual_ completely.  

But Vegeta wasn't as bad as he wanted himself to be.  Or look like.  If he was really cruel he could have let Gohan loose on the world and laughed about it later.  Even though he was partly saving his own reputation, because he didn't want to be married either.  Or bonded.  Or whatever.  And he didn't—Gohan paused, blushed, and felt his neck burn—he didn't want to have sex with him either.  

He didn't want his skin against his.  

He didn't want him close.  

He didn't want _him_ period.

Gohan didn't know what sex between guys would be like.  If not for Biology class and secondary school, he wouldn't know what sex would be like at all.  He had no idea what it would _feel_ like.  Biology class had made it sound incredibly painful and ridiculous, but other stories…

He'd heard locker stories, but he could tell by the smell that only a few were telling the truth.  It sounded a lot like fighting.  It sounded great.

He'd always be in awe of Vegeta, and in a kind of admiration.  Vegeta didn't always have the strength, but always had the guts.  Gohan had the guts, but he'd been blessed to almost always have the strength, or the luck, as well.  The times he hadn't been strong enough, he'd been worried and mad as hell and had _made_ things work the way he wanted them to…And then something had gone right so he was still alive later on; usually it was his father.

Vegeta should be with him.  

It was decided.  

It had been planned and considered and mused over and analyzed from every angle conceivable, but it had still been unresolved.

Academically, psychologically, biologically, it was now decided.

*

"I still, love, you…I still, want, you," he sings, his voice thin and weak instead of the stronger and raspy-ish of the original singer.  But the lyrics are good and he strings out the words, the boy's tone carries the feeling, which not even the best singer can always do.  

*

He stood and walked thoughtfully over to the bed, sitting down cautiously and quietly on the edge.

Vegeta wasn't bad looking.  He always seemed to be serious and irritated by everyone else, always thinking and judging, calculating the next attack even when there wasn't an enemy.  

And proper.  Regardless how he sometimes acted in battle, or even what he said, he did have his values and morals, reflections of his short regal upbringing.  Much, _much_ different from what Gohan and Goku had, but Gohan had recognized that there was a format and type of structure to Vegeta's actions.

He was a bit shorter than Gohan, and slender yet still powerful.  But he was really rough, nearly always vicious and violent.  He'd probably be furious.  

But Gohan was confident of his own strength.  He might not be completely violent or bossy, but physically he was confident.  But he wasn't…gay?

Gohan's fingers traced the air over Vegeta's face, mingling with the faint body heat.  

But like Vegeta said, nobody really cared what he thought or wanted.  

This was the way things _were_, and not the way Gohan _wanted_ although he could _make_ things the way he wanted them…he wasn't sure if that was the way he wanted it now.  If maybe normalcy was the best thing anymore.  

A small part of his head blamed it on hormones, and rang a small warning bell timidly and tapped the desk against the data and ones and zeros zooming back in forth at furious calculating speeds.

_//the point of puberty is to have **sex**_,// 

_//nobody cares what **you** want_,//

_//your body is going faster than usual_,// 

_//you'll have to find another soon_.//  

He wasn't gay.  He was very sure of that.  Vegeta didn't seem extremely shocked by homosexuality, only upset that he was the 'chosen' and that Gohan was Gohan.  But about the homosexual aspect of it…Vegeta didn't seem particularly shocked or angry.  

He had thought Gohan an idiot for being shocked.  As in a narrow-minded-idiot?  But then he called Gohan was an idiot most of the time.

But if nobody cared what Gohan wanted…why should he care what Vegeta wanted?

Why should Vegeta be so privileged, in everything?

Why should he deny himself?

…How long could he?

Gohan watched Vegeta's chest move gently as he breathed, and noted absently that Vegeta's skin looked a little paler, and a little sharper drawn.  

Vegeta was beautiful.

…Why should he deny himself?

He leaned down (only academically experimenting in the hybrid biology), to the tune of ivory steel (memories, I want my _mind_ back), blinked twice and inhaled (oh god, if he doesn't kill me), and pressed his lips dryly against Vegeta's (oh _fuck_-), and closed his eyes (me).  

His heart thumped erratically, his body broke out in a cold sweat even though his temperature must've gone up by 20 degrees, cooking his inner organs slowly as hormones released enzymes that were slowly boiling him alive.    He couldn't breathe well, and his eyes forcibly slammed shut.

Gohan could smell Vegeta everywhere, and could feel the tempting and comfortable waves of Vegeta's body heat.  Vegeta was right there.  And so was Gohan.

He moved his lips slowly, dryly, lightly, as his eyes slid shut, while his control slipped like success though his fingers and left him completely.  He gingerly touched the tip of his tongue to Vegeta's lips and felt movement in answer.  

And Gohan let go.

He exhaled heavily, swore in his mind, grabbed Vegeta's hair and the back of his neck while powering up to the uncertain max of SSJ and straddling Vegeta to keep his arms down with his knees and ki.

He was able to kiss Vegeta fully and hard once on the mouth and trace his tongue over and inside his bottom lip and felt Vegeta's chest rise, while he dug his fingers through the spikes of hair, before teeth clamped down _hard_ on his lips and tongue, a full body blast hitting Gohan full in his chest and off the bed onto the floor.  

So while Vegeta sprang up he was akimbo on the floor, flaring terrified teal meeting blazing acidic lime and-

-just touch souls briefly-

-_desire fear shock lust_-

-and Gohan teleported outside the house and shot his power to the max and flew.  A small sound of air coming in to fill the vacuum was the only farewell given.  

It was nothing compared to the grating vacuum that followed.

*

"On and on the mysteries unwind themselves…Eternities still unsaid…'Til you love me."    
The boy turns his head in what could be east, smiles warmly, and stands up.  That was dawn of the 7th morning.

Vegeta should be unconscious by now.  

Time to start.

~~~~~~~

A/N: Song "A Thousand Years", by Sting.

~~~~~~~

Point of View Style 1

He has to know I'm following him.

He has to know, my ki is too strong.

He came back he came back (back to me?) the fucking goddamned half-breed born of a reject father with the stupid little _girl_ laugh that grates on my nerves and shy little smile that floors my mind and pale skin pale perfect unmarked skin and long legs and hips so perfectly designed-

The maker of that body should be dragged out and shot for daring to create anything so beautiful and elegant with a power my own kind _never_ dreamed of, never even in our darkest, most ambitious fantasies could ever conceive of anything so perfect, so uniquely and perfectly designed-

-And he turns out _nice_.  And kind.  And in his own way—

-provocative.  He dares to be the savoir my kind dreamed and prayed for, and he speaks and acts like a ningen brat.

And fights like a demon.

Walks like sex on legs.

And looks at me…like he was going to swallow me whole.  And I believe he could.  Given the chance, should I ever let my guard down long enough he could and he would so without a blink.

But he's so damned _fast_.  He didn't used to be this fast.

He grew.  The bastard grew and changed, grew stronger out there.  Fucking great for him.  So he's been getting stronger and I've just…

I was faster than this.

The effects of that fucking spider bite he gave me.

Why is he running?  He's supposed to be hunting _me_, not the other way around.  Not that I mind, I've been wanting to beat his ass unconscious but it doesn't make sense.  He's going back, back to where he was supposed to stay, where he was safe, before he came looking for trouble, before he came looking for _me_, stupid kid I was trying to protect you, I was trying to protect _me_, but now that's all made worthless now.

I can still taste you in my mouth, clean warmed wine…

I almost responded.  You were going to take me then, I could feel it in you even if you didn't know it, and I almost let you.  I almost _wanted_ you to.  

Disgusting.  Some hybrid creature trying to take me…and I almost would have allowed it.  How low can I sink?  Damn far, for sure.  But not that far, not that low.  I die before I let my body control me.  It hasn't before; it won't now.

But…you don't know what you're doing.  

You don't…

This is all just reflex to you, you hardly hold any more passion or conviction for the burning in your blood that's rushing through your veins than you hold for fighting, for the kill, it's all reflex all nature, wild savage nature wrapped up khaki scholar slacks you love so much.

Bastard.

You don't mean a goddamned Saiyan thing you've ever done.  You just got lucky.

But now it's not worth anything.  All the pain I've suffered while you left me, abandoned me because I wanted you to, I needed you to…All the pain _you've_ suffered-and I know you have-it's all worth nothing.  

I won't let you take me.  

I won't let you take me at all.

I was the Saiyan no Ouji.  I _am_ the Saiyan no Ouji.  Royalty, upper class, high born, sovereign of a dead and dying race and I didn't let Frieza stop me I didn't let him break me but he tried he tried like hell and I'm not going to let _you_ do it!  I've come too far for that!  

I won't settle for that now.

I didn't fight all my life, against everything, so that a drugged up half-breed could have _me_ as his personal whore, I won't stand for it!  I won't allow it!  

I smelled the Heat on you while you touched me, and I could smell the fear on you, stronger now that you've been discovered.  You think I didn't realize the first time you were here?  Idiot.  Of course I knew.  

With soul-ache and despair eating away at my ribs to rip into something juicy…of course I knew.  You're terrified.  You shouldn't have messed with things you don't want to follow through with; you shouldn't have messed with _me_.

I can still taste you in my mouth.  I'll taste more of you before the sun rises.

I know you can't run forever boy.  

I know you won't, even if you could.

~~~~~~~

Note Taking Style 2

Vegeta had chased him.

Gohan smiled, let the adrenaline run in his system, and had flown a maze that would have made his philosophy professor proud in the woods and continents before heading back to the artic.  He was tired, winded, but so was Vegeta.

Much happened, but only three, maybe four things were important:

1.They never touched.  Gohan made sure of that, no matter how close Vegeta came to him or tried to ambush or hit him; of how very much Gohan _wanted_ him to…they never touched.

2.Vegeta never stopped chasing him.  He never gave up.

3.Vegeta was presently underneath a glacier.  Likely unconscious, as the formation had fallen on him while he was powered down and winded.

4.Gohan was presently back at the Capsule house, warm, content, and cooking ravioli soup with French bread.

~~~~~~

Point of View Style 2

You followed up to plan perfectly.

You got confident when you thought I was heading back home, when you thought I was afraid of you.  

You've always underestimated too quickly; it's your greatest failing.  You always called me weak, but you left your own weakness out in the open to play upon.

I darted through a canyon made of still water, and through tunnels, some natural, some perfectly etched out just for you, just for this, while you follow up and leave glittering shrapnel in your wake, trailing like angry diamond insects.

I slow down for a few seconds, leaving several meters between us, enough to get you to speed up but still keep myself out of reach.  

A low, smooth streak across a plateau with the pitiable sunlight reflecting off the ice and into my eyes.  

A 90-degree angle down a glacier side several hundred miles down, curling up before I hit the ground.

I know you must be frustrated, you've never seemed the cat-and-mouse kind to me, and so far you haven't been able to vent your anger in a single solid punch or kick.  I just hope you're not too furious.  

And I close my eyes and search for your ki.   Not so much to know where you are, but how high it is, fluctuations, how you're feeling…Clues.  Feedback.  Can I make this work now, or do I need to improvise?

You are few feet in front of me, hovering the air still powered up, nowhere _near_ your max, with slight fluctuation in your ki and heavy respiration.  I'm still powered up too, tired, but not quite as badly.  I had planned this, after all.

I open my eyes and smile at you while you glare irritably at me, catching the glint and pulse in your eyes when you see me smile.  Catching on?  Not yet, don't want you to know what I'm planning yet.  

I also see something else, something I remember from the bar the first day of this affair, something I file away for later analyzation because I'm not ready to touch it right now.

But god it's hard to stop looking at you.  I can feel so much in the way you look at me, like medieval hunter in the forest and I'm the prey and I know you won't hesitate to strike…the way your chest moves as you struggle to pull in breath.  

The sun glints off your tanned skin and chest, my eyes pulled always to your neck…You do look paler though, a little skinnier.  It's probably just the lighting.

I walk backward slowly, not to startle you or cause you rush or fight, although I wouldn't mind your hands on me at all, even if it did hurt…I still smile though, that bright, cheerful smile you've sneered at so many times and I know touches a cord somewhere inside you; whether good or bad is a mystery to me.  But it touches a nerve, and that's what's important.

You narrow your eyes, and the muscles shift and relax and tense in your neck and biceps.  I'm not running.  I drop my power, back into normal.  That gets your attention.  Good.  I'm going to get more.

I grin wider at you, slow my steps even more while lowering and crossing my arms across my abdomen to grab the hem of my shirt and strip it off, slowing down until I came to a stop until it comes off over my head and down my arms, making sure to run my hands slowly over my biceps in casual caresses and flex my fingers.  

People always say I have long fingers to be so skinny, especially when compared to my dad.  

Your expression didn't change and you didn't move, but the fire dimmed a bit in your eyes.  I wasn't sure why.  I'm still…not completely sure.  That was supposed to be the catalyst, the invitation, and yet you become disappointed.  Why?  

Come _on_ Vegeta, this is embarrassing enough without it being inefficient!  It's very hard to keep up this façade of confidence, and if you laugh or look at me at the wrong moment in the wrong way the whole shenanigan comes crashing down.

I'm so damn embarrassed as it is, I'm surprised the ice isn't melting.

But I can tell from the shifting angle of your brows and small flexing of your fingers that I've got your attention in all the right ways, if not as much as I had wanted.

I continue backing up until my back touches the glacier.  I hiss and flinch on contact, my face going from the smooth bright cherry smile to a snarl; it's cold enough already, even in SSJ, bad enough normal status, and it _is_ affecting me.  

But it has to be affecting you too then, so that's not quite so bad.  

It's the kind of cold that burns and cuts at the same time, when it really starts to numb it means you either have frostbite, hypothermia, or you are going to die very shortly.  I had first hand experiences for the first two, and a little of the third, so I know what I'm talking about.

Saiyans get stronger the more often they are hurt or come close to death.  I think that's happened more often to me than to you since the last time we've met, so I'm thinking I'm the stronger of both of us right now, but it's hard to tell.  You seem weaker than usual, but you're probably masking your ki.

I look up at you from the top of my head, while you hover a few feet in the air and a couple of yards from me.  You notice everything I do.  Good.

I lean back carefully, eyes glazing over while I try to relax into the ice and not wince in pain like I _so_ want to.  

This is cruel.  

This is unusual.

I know you love it.

At the very least I have your attention, and you haven't said anything yet.  If you call me a baka now everything really –_will-_ be that much harder.

I can finally lean back fully, and my skin is _so_ stuck to the ice it'll probably rip off my back even if I peel myself off.

I keep my neck off, it would really sting extremely so if I did put it on.

I tilt my head up to look at you, and I know you love it.  What it stands for.  You're my lord and I'm your subject, my center, my superior and wiser.

I also catch you looking at my chest, the muscles in my neck, my torso and rimming around my jeans.  They're a bit uncomfortable, but just to feel you glaze the muscles in them while we tagged around the globe makes it worth the scratching.

I feel like I'm going to fall forward.  Your eyes have always been your strongest weapon against me, they can shut me up faster and more efficient than words ever could, they can tell me what your thinking, how you feel…I can almost see your soul in your eyes.  

Not all of it, but some.  It's a lot different than what you pretend to be.  It's beautiful.  Even words fail me now.

I raise my arms up, towards you in invitation, up towards the sun in worship, and behind my head and over my neck against the ice in surrender.

I stare and smile at you the whole time, legs crossed casually with one foot against the ice behind me.

I know you've already processed what the position implies: I can't defend myself, I can't run, I'm a little off-balance and I can be caught and pinned easily; come get me.

You don't though.

You study me for me for a moment, and I feel like a article in a text book, clear cut and subject to anyone and anything that comes it's way, from slacking students with dirty hands and cigarettes to toddlers armed with crayons.  

You drop out of SSJ.  Oh, that's good.  You're gathering energy for a ki blast and have one nearly ready and primed at my head.  That's bad.  

You don't fire though, and your eyes narrow—warning me?  You said you were going to kill me if I came after you again.  Well, I did.  Twice.  Or so.  Maybe more.  You aren't thinking about going back on your word, are you?  

I lift my chin and rearrange my legs again to shift my hips.  I wish I knew how to flirt.  I _really_ wish I knew how to flirt.  That'd be really useful right now.  Improvisation is the next best thing.  Right.  I hope I don't screw up _too_ badly…

"Thanks for coming.  I would say I wasn't sure you'd come, but then that'd be lying.  Still…nice of you to take the trouble…"

Arrogant, smug, and condescending.  Low pitched so you have to concentrate on the words I say, a steady treble with a slight smirk inflection…Basically your own voice back at you.  Did I manage it?  Tempting?  I don't think so, not under normal circumstances, but maybe it would be to you.

Something changes in your face, but I have to move before I can classify it and I know I'm going to regret the chance later, tearing and powering up simultaneously behind you to shove/blast you into the glacier with a minor shot and following up with a kamehameha while you crash and reorient yourself.  The cliff collapses with you in it, but I still power up to full, then push it further with all that I've earned in my last few days here, and blast a masaka just to be sure, shattering the ice beneath you.

If you escaped the blast, that would be a really bad thing for me.

But I don't think you did.

It doesn't _feel_ like you did—It just doesn't.

Water starts to well up, and the surrounding cliff side for miles begins to groan and crash.

And I leave you there.

Exceptionally quickly.

Under the ice, possibly hurt, hopefully unconscious and undoubtedly confused.  And with my ki as quiet as it is, undoubtedly lost after I'm far away enough.  It took me forever to maneuver in the glaring monotonous whiteness; it'll take you a little time at least.

Normally I would stick around after blasting an enemy, ready to fight when he came back up, but I don't think—I'm not sure if I'm able to physically best you.  I think I can.  But I don't want to hurt you either.

I bet you thought I lured you here just to kiss.  

The raviolis ready; Mom somehow managed to pass down some of her cooking talent, but I really still prefer things that come in cans.  I can still mess up pretty badly if it's anything harder than that and has to include a white chardonnay with anise and fennel.  Or port.  

I've had bad experiences with port.

Port's hell.

~~~~~~

Note Taking Style 3

He woke up slowly, keeping his ki level the minute he recognized the grogginess.

I. He'd been knocked out.

II. It was not 4 am in the morning.

III. He was not alone.

IV. He was tied up.

V. Smell.

VI. The boy.

VII. Weight on his legs.

VIII. A mouth sucking on his neck.

~~~~~

_Vegeta's thoughts_

//_Gohan's thoughts_//

Normal Style 

"Hmm.  Hello," A tongue tasted his sideburns, "How do you feel?" and traced over his eye, and suckled on his ear.  

Vegeta ignited his power, "Huh," and shot his eyes open when he couldn't.  

"Something Bulma whipped up a while ago."  Gohan's face came into view, pale angular face topped with thick neat black spikes except for a petulant strand over his eyes, back slightly bowed grinning a small, shy smile, but looking completely pleased with himself.  Black glared into smiling black.

The boy wasn't blushing.

He was wearing that same, small, hopeful, _cheerful_ smile and not wearing a shirt, showing off his muscled biceps like armor still lean and lanky with youth.

The boy wasn't blushing.

There was a bright fluorescent light overhead, artificial and cold, and they were apparently in a kitchen with French bread on the counter and…something on the stove.

Vegeta was tied to a chair, apparently helpless and without his boots, and Gohan was sitting shirtless on his lap and had been licking his face (body?) for who knew how long, knees on either side of his waist and butt on his thighs, close enough to touch but far enough away to keep his groin in sight.

The boy wasn't _blushing_.  Oh shit.

"See something nice?"

The boy still wasn't blushing.  Fucking Namek.

"You're fucked now boy."

Gohan split into an uncertain grin. 

"I seriously in all sincerity hope so."

Vegeta frowned and raised his eyebrows curiously while the boy tentatively and awkwardly tilted his head to suck on Vegeta's jaw.  His head was far too groggy, maybe from the cold and maybe from the fight, and even though he could talk coherently his mind wasn't yet processing things as fast as he wanted them to.  And that bloody bright light was hurting his eyes.

"Boy?"

Slurp, nudge, "Yes?" scooping kiss, pressing kiss-

"What the hell are you doing?"

 -light quick bite, worrying a thin layer of skin between teeth-

"Um, well,"-unfolding kiss, lick-"I'm not gay.  No offense but I don't-", hard, experimental suckling on the side of his neck, causing Vegeta to hiss, it was so close to the mark.  

Gohan paused, took a cleaning lick, and leaned back to look critically at Vegeta, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand absently.  Saliva dripped down Vegeta's neck, soaking the collar of his body suit.  He was groggily, mildly disgusted.  

"No offense, but I don't think you're cute or anything.  I mean, you _are_ very handsome in like a very, um, what's the word…striking I suppose, very tanned and brutal way, but this isn't exactly something I would normally muse about during math class but I generally don't tend to fantasize during math anyway so that's an unfair comparison.  As to what I'm doing _now_, well, um, I really am a bit new at this whole thing.  Intimate…touching and stuff.  So I'm trying to get as much hands-on-training as possible and learn, so that's mostly for me, it's not really for your benefit as much as it is mine."

_…Gods, but he does enjoy blathering…_

"…What?"

"That's not for you.  That's for me."

Vegeta looked at him.  He breathed in and blinked at the same time, his mind coming to a conclusion that his nose had supplied him with.

"You're not in heat."  Vegeta didn't ask a question when a statement could be supplied.  And the air didn't carry the heavy tones of Heat and hormones…mainly it just smelled a little burnt.  From the food perhaps?

Gohan blinked.  

"Well, no, no more than usual.  I've had to increment drastically the dosage of the pills you gave me, but I can still think sometimes."

"So…what are you doing?"

"Um, I'm _really_ trying—" Gohan stopped, and chewed his lower lip in thought.  He looked into Vegeta's eyes with a pensive expression on his face.  The ceiling light glinted and refracted against the boy's hair as he tilted his head in musing.

"You know, whenever I touched that-" he pointed to the bruise on Vegeta's neck, "you always made this sound, even though you were asleep.  Kind of like it hurt.  I wonder if you'll make it now that you're awake."

The boy smiled, but something in his eyes winced in the light.  

Vegeta swam in his thoughts, and tried to force them back into working order.  He was being… _taunted_?  He'd obviously been tricked but…

Vegeta spoke slowly, making sure none of the words slurred.  Just because he _felt_ weak didn't mean he had to show it.

"First--you beg me to tell you what the fuck is wrong with you…then I have to listen to you whine and bitch about how unfair life is…and now you pull a stunt like _this_?"  

Vegeta yanked harder against his bonds in emphasis than he had thought possible, and shoved his face into Gohan's.  

The boy struck him hard across the face.  Pain registered slowly, vertigo quickly.  

_…What?…Wow…bit early for that._

"See," Gohan brushed his hair against Vegeta's face, "what I hypothesize," he rubbed his cheek against Vegeta's, "is that Heat demands, well, sex right?"  

He tilted Vegeta's chin up so he could look into his eyes.  

Vegeta's eyes held all the charmed allure of a Venusian swamp; sweltering, wet, and acidic.  

Gohan smiled weakly, sighed heavily, yet held Vegeta's gaze and tried to ignore the livid crimson on his left cheek.  

_What was he playing at?  It's obvious he's scared as hell, but what's he playing at?  That…hurt, but the way he's acting…it's **wrong**.  Fuck…I need my hands free.  Stupid onna and her damn 'inventions'._

"Now, you've already made it really clear that you don't want me to sleep with you.  And that _was_ ok with me, and now it _isn't_ ok with me.  And I've had _lots_ of time to do _lots_ of thinking, and the only thing I can _think_ about and really don't _want_ to, is you."  

Gohan grinned bitterly, "Just…you."

His voice was hard, dark, but hardly cold.  Convicting.  Like he was lecturing a child…Vegeta wasn't a child.  Little bitch…

Gohan paused, his eyes burning back into Vegeta's.  Vegeta was surprised.  The boy was actually _mad_.  The ball-less bastard was actually _mad_.  

"I really didn't have a choice.  It's kind of weird, you know.  I haven't felt this obsessive since after the time I messed up with Cell.  And Dad died.  But this time, it's just you.  And I'm not real sure what it is I've done wrong, but I do know that I don't want to feel this guilty or bad all the time.  So I'm not going to."

He watched Vegeta for a reaction, waiting.  Besides a change in the slope of his eyes, there was none.

"Remembering what you said.  How you said it.  The way you looked.  The way you smelled.  Always sort of…I noticed that more.  I didn't use to before, but now I am.  Strange, ne?"  The boy smiled warmly, contently.  Vegeta fought to keep his stomach down.  

Gohan's canines flashed suddenly, but his tone didn't change, still light and conversational although the timbre dropped a few.  

"The way you _looked_ at me, like I was something unhealthy.  Like events were somehow _my_ fault.  And you were the victim who got stuck with the _goddamned check and_--" Gohan bit off the end of the sentence, shook his head, and grinned raggedly.  

"And I figured that, while things would have been pretty set with me and Videl, with you~u, things would be… _different_."  

"Really?"

Vegeta felt he should say something, silence wasn't his style, and there was no point in letting the boy get more ahead of himself than possible.  It's hard to keep up with boy's words, his head was still swimming and while Vegeta had known Gohan was in pain, but he hadn't been expecting _this_ much anger or resentment.  

A very horny teenager, perhaps violent, and at the worst rape--but not something so…premeditated.  So personal.

Had he been drugged?  

It felt like he had, a bitter taste in the back of his tongue.  He wouldn't put it past the boy.  He felt like crap, and his skin still burned from where the boy had touched him.  Damn pheromones, just a bunch of stupid chemicals telling _him_ what to do…

"So tell me brat, what _exactly_ did the great _genius_ have in mind?"

There, that sounded better.  His voice wasn't strong enough, but at least the syllables were still clear and there was _some_ inflection.

Gohan coughed sardonically in his chest, mildly pleased and irritated that Vegeta was getting back to being his old sour self. 

"You said you didn't want me to…well," Gohan frowned and moved his mouth around, "to 'fuck' you, and that's still ok with me.  I mean, with human rights and all, even though neither of us is really human, but that's beside the point.  You shouldn't be forced to something you don't want to.  I'm not a rapist, the idea's sickening."  

Vegeta smirked a ghost of a smirk at the irony.  He coughed up his own chuckle in his throat.

"So now it just means you'll have to do me instead."

Vegeta blinks processes this for meaning.

Vegeta barks a short laugh.

Gohan smirks.

Vegeta returns it.  He blinks, tilts his head to the side, and regards the sincerity of the boy seated on his lap.  He's still leering at Gohan, amused beyond belief.

"And _that's_ your plan?"

"Pretty much."

Vegeta grinned.  He wasn't exactly sure _why_ the situation was funny, it just was.  Why bother figuring out?  The brat always had been a disdainful laugh riot…And he could practically _feel_ his metabolism burning away whatever was wrong in his blood and body.  His vision was getting sharper.

"…So you're groping me now because…?"

"That's not for you, that's for me.  I'm trying to get used to way your—skin feels against mine.  I'm new at this, remember?"

"And you somehow expect to have _sex_?  _That's_ your dazzling plan, to somehow make me degrade myself by shoving my dick up your ass?"

He tries to be crass intentionally.  This was Kakkarott's brat after all; it shouldn't be that hard to embarrass him.

Gohan paused. 

"Yes, I figured that's how it would go.  As for convincing you, well-"

Gohan hung his arms straight over Vegeta's arms, leaned their foreheads together and smiled.

"I haven't taken any of your medical pulls for more than 7 hours Vegeta-san," he tacked on the honorific with ironic sadism.  

"So you can agree, or you can wait until my Saiyan blood that you've always been so damn proud of takes hold and does what it wants," Gohan smirked deliciously.  "You really don't have a choice.  In fact, the only thing that's really keeping me from tearing off your clothes and taking you here and now is 10 cans of coffee…and the way you're looking at me right now."  

The boy's eyes flicked from one eye to the other to Vegeta's lips.  The boy smiles in that the sappy, intentionally sickening way.  Gohan seemed to feed on the feelings of disgust Vegeta was generating.  

"The way you _always_ look at me," he purred.

Vegeta struck with his teeth extended and a snarl, nicking the right side of the boy's bottom lip and some of his face before the younger pulled back and punched him hard in the hinge of the jaw, making his teeth rattle and his tendons stretch and head echo. 

The blow didn't phase him at all, and as he whipped his head back around Vegeta was hit again, but the elder warrior managed a 3 inch shallow incision across Gohan's wrist and arm as the flesh went past his teeth following the fist, and Gohan pulled back quickly.  A bottomless growl echoed from his throat as Gohan cradled the wound in shock and stared at the blood on Vegeta's lips.  

Gohan's eyes narrowed, and his shoulders lowered, and he pulled Vegeta's mouth roughly to the side while Vegeta struggled, ending with putting his arms in a type of vice, leaving his neck on display.

Vegeta suddenly remembered all the melodramatic vampire movies the onna insisted on watching.  

_This is so **stupid**_!

"You were supposed to help me," a teeth sharp on his shoulder, "and you didn't.  And I'm really sorry it has to come down to this, but I'm through waiting, and your emotions have more or less become void."  

Teeth were placed on his collarbone and raked, stopped, reset with an adjustment, and raked meticulously over his skin, leaving red marks and little trails of blood in their wake.

Vegeta struggled harder.  _It's not even all that painful!  It's just embarrassing!…and a little painful_.

"You ungrateful _bitch_, I gave you all the help-"

"You didn't help me at all.  Not as much as you could have.  And if I-" Gohan yanked Vegeta's head up and to the left, and squeezed his waist with his legs until they were pushed chest-to-chest and groin to abdomen, and pressed heavily with his tongue the bite on Vegeta's neck.  Vegeta hissed.

As arousing as the actions were meant to be, or could be interpreted, they had a wooden, rehearsed bit about them, but still desperate enough for the tension to carry.  

Vegeta's nostrils flared, taking in the air.  

Fear.  

Fear and anger.  

He flexed his wrists hard, felt the metal bite back, and heard the chair creak beneath him.  It was only wood.  He kicked backwards blindly and tried to arch his back, the hell with if it put him closer to the brat it might get him free.  

Gohan half-heartedly tried to cover his struggles, being more interested with running his tongue along his neck.

"-if I go _mad_, or _insane_, or what the **_fuck!_**, it's going to be **_you_**-" Gohan ground his hips into Vegeta, licked a trail across his temple while his fingers tapped into the center of the bruise, causing Vegeta to scream a short cry before he slammed his jaw shut and screwed his eyes closed "-who's _really_ going to be _very_," Gohan kissed the corner of his jaw tenderly, dug his nails and fingers into the skin above Vegeta's manacles, "**_very_**" he kissed the right side of his neck, "upset." 

//_shit shit shit_//

_FUCK!_

A gentle kiss on the mark while Vegeta inhaled sharply, his chest rising and rubbing against the boy's as he arched, trying not to scream and pulled against the bonds and tried to slip them over the top of the chair as Gohan stuck his tongue into the mark, and raked his teeth over it, the little bastard.

Vegeta needed to scream.  

He writhed, struggled, pulled away as far as the bonds and hands would let him, which wasn't nearly far enough.  

This was _wrong_, he could smell it in the air, there was something obscenely _wrong_ about it all, especially in the bright fluorescent kitchen light that reminded him of an operating table, in the fear and anger and disheveled desire that flooded the air.  

This was wrong.  

A growl echoed in his throat, a last reserve of strength made him kick hard against the floor, made the chair screech and bounce against the floor and another bloodied red slash against Gohan's jaw line, another separation of flesh and skin, uglier than the others, not nearly deep enough. 

Gohan just pressed against the chair with an arm across Vegeta's throat and pressing harder all the time.  

Vegeta belatedly criticized himself for not trying to bite out the other's jaw.  His mouth is big enough, and his teeth are sharp.  It wouldn't be the first time.  He surged to get his breath back.  They glared at each other, Vegeta nursing a hurt throat and Gohan's hand pressed into his jaw.

"_This_ is how you solve your problems?  You really think _this_ is going to make anything better, you don't even have the _guts_ to take what-"

"Shut _up_ Vegeta I-"

"_You_ can't do a damn thing!  There isn't anything _you_ can do that can make me change my mind!  Learn to fix your _own_ fucked life instead of bitching at _me_ to do it for you!"

"It's not just _my_ life anymore, I chose _you_-"

"You didn't even know what the hell it _meant_-"

"I don't _need_ to know!  It isn't _my_ fault, it isn't mine at all!  I don't know why I want to--to _sleep_ with you, I don't know I want to _touch_ you!! _I'm_ not even _gay_!  I _don't_ think guys are cute, and I don't like **_you!  _**_I hate you!_"

Gohan bit back the rest of his words, his chest heaving, head crouched against his chest.  He had been shouting in Vegeta's face—they both had—and now he hid his eyes, and his face.  

That emotional outburst was a bit _too_ revealing, a bit _too_ dangerous, and both Gohan and Vegeta recognized it for it what it was.

There was a moment where things happened very quickly and nothing was done.  Then it was over.

Vegeta observed him through lidded eyes, his upper lip curling up slightly.  Gohan's hand was still pressed into his jaw, and his shoulders were trembling, just a little invisible bit.  Vegeta breathed in deep again.  Like old tobacco tar lining a smokers lungs…damn the room was _covered_ in it.  

Why was the brat so damn afraid?

"Oh, stop.  Please stop.  Can't you see you're breaking my heart you geeky little freak."  Vegeta shook his head.  "This is so fucking melodramatic, typical…If you chose someone like _me_, the way I am, it's your own tainted genes.  It was your own heart.  It was your own _choice_.  Learn to live with yourself, but don't you dare to even ask me to live it for you."

There was a pause.

He should probably be feeling some compassion right now.  If Gohan had come about this in any other way…if only he hadn't tried to _force_ him, tried to trap him…

Vegeta spoke, very quietly.  

"This isn't something you can force on me.  Not on me.  Not you, not your daddy, not anybody else _ever_.  I am my own."

Vegeta watched quietly.  The brat hadn't just _absorbed_ the words, he seemed physically struck by them.  Gohan's breathing was still regular, and the small invisible tremors in his shoulders continued.  Vegeta couldn't see Gohan's face, but he could see the drips of water that fell onto the space between them.  

"…Now get the fuck off-"

There was muffled shriek and a painful cry of outrage as the rest of sentence was cut off sharply in a cough.

"**_No_**!  _I won't have it!_  _No_…nonononono…No.  No you can't.  No.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry but you can't."  Gohan shook his head slowly.  Vegeta tried to jerk, but Gohan's fingers were like old metal tight around his esophagus.  The cold froze him, and the threat never stopped looming in front of him.  He couldn't move.  He didn't dare. 

Gohan's voice was cold and slow, leaking directly from his soul.

"I can't…go through this anymore.  I can't…I need my mind back because it hurts not to have it.  You took…", Gohan chuckled wetly by his ear, "I _gave_ you something…and now I need it back.  I need…I need something, because it hurts too much not to have it.  And if it means I have…to hurt you…"

Gohan's shoulders moved gracefully to and fro with every shallow breath he took, water dripping onto Vegeta's shoulder.  

Gohan breathed in deep, collected his mind like a battered curtain around him and moved on with his plan.  The important thing was to keep moving.  

_don't worry about what he thinks, don't worry about what vegeta says; don't let him hurt you.  what he says doesn't matter.  don't let him hurt you._

_keep moving.  got to keep moving.  _

"Vegeta.  We're really not so different as you think.  I mean, I'm not really that bad, right?  Strong enough to beat Cell, strong enough to claim _you_, come on Vegeta, I'm not asking _too_ much.  Just a little…quality time.  Saiyan bonding, and what not.  Just until this is over, and then we can go back, like nothing ever happened between us, and we'll never have to see each other again.  Things can be normal again…Please get your teeth out of my arm."

He blew a cold zephyr over the mark, bright red and throbbing with his previous ministrations.  Vegeta shivered and pulled his body as far as he could away as Gohan smirked into his skin.  

Vegeta still glared and bit down harder, drawing blood that trickled down.  Gohan's lips pressed together, and he powered up.  He discreetly rubbed his face against Vegeta's shoulder, and straightened his back to look at Vegeta in the eyes.  His face and eyes were redder, wet, one side of his jaw was bleeding, but the old air of smug superiority and clumsy, careless seduction were back.  

Gohan was in control again. 

_Fuck.  That was over quick_. 

Vegeta was silently disappointed.  His teeth could break bone and he couldn't even pull the flesh off.  And the nearly-Saiyan blood in his mouth was having a bad effect on his chemistry, dizzying his head after it was nearly cleared.

"After all, what choice do you have?  Take…or be taken.  It's as simple as that."

He purred, and rubbed his face against Vegeta's.  

"You don't have to answer verbally."

Gohan moved his free arm away from Vegeta's throat, and squeezed the hinges of Vegeta's jaw together until he could pull his forearm out easily, like one would do with a rabid dog.  He had to do it to shut him up.  Keep him quiet.  

Despite himself, despite the pain and turbulent emotions, he had to admire the beauty the blood that spilled in small rivulets out of Vegeta's mouth.  

That looked so…morbid.  

So disgusting that Gohan really, really wanted to kiss him hard and stick his tongue in his mouth.  Except that Vegeta would probably bite _that_ too.  

Still.

Gohan lifted his arm up and licked along the length of it, watching Vegeta for any reactions.

That was so uncannily Saiyan…

Vegeta snorted.

"You act like a bitch."

Then it was like before, the boy's hands in his hair and tracing his arms, distant and academic touches done for familiarity, with the coldness of duty and the fire of hormones.

He wanted to swear.  He wanted to scream.  He _really_ wanted to beat the shit out of Gohan until the half-breed was finally _dead_ and done with like he had _initially_ thought of, but hadn't done.  

Because he thought it wouldn't have been _fair_.

Fuck.  

Vegeta reviewed his situation.  He was tied to a chair, somewhat drugged, bereft of his ki, with a very horny, desperate, and not very sane half-breed brat.  

Who, incidentally, smelled damn good, tasted-from the few times their mouths had touched-damn good, and had the body of a poem.  His body flamed and flared dimly with each clumsy yet careful touch it received, regardless of where it was or how it was given.  His blood still throbbed.

And…who couldn't be thinking very clearly right now.  And was somewhat vulnerable, and very dependent on Vegeta even if Vegeta was his "prisoner".  

Vegeta considered his pride, and thought some while fingers massaged at his shoulder blades.  

What the hell.

Vegeta reached out and licked Gohan's chest hesitantly, surprised when the boy whimpered and convulsed immediately, head falling on his shoulder, startled high gasps coming from him.  

_Well that was quick._

He sucked cautiously on a nipple while Gohan shrieked and trembled violently, hands clawing the back of the chair.  Vegeta pulled back, listened to the near-sobbing breaths and watching the skin tremble and muscles spasm under.

"Onegai, please, Vegeta, Geta-sama, please don't play…"

Vegeta conscientiously licked a slow trail to the top of Gohan's broad shoulder, listening to the gasps and hitched breathing, the flushed and temperate convulsing.  

He tasted like water, like cold, like chilled wine so polished there was barely any taste, only a sophisticated after-taste tingling and sweet on the back of his tongue before vanishing.  Tease.  But better than the first time.

He bit lightly, just lightly, into Gohan's shoulder.  Reaction was instant, and Gohan screamed and arched, slammed his hips into Vegeta, grinding his erection desperately even while the chair tipped and crashed to the floor.  He continued rubbing wantonly, seeking release still, even while he gripped Vegeta by his hair and tried to choke him with his own tongue and his other hand stroking his chest in fast, heavy passes and tried to open his pants.  

"_Brat!_"  

Gohan frantically got both hands on Vegeta's belt while his mouth tried to capture the elder's again, "_Gohan!_" 

Gohan whimpered at his name and ripped the button off and the zipper down, forgetting all about the belt while he tried to get his hands inside-

-Vegeta bit down into his neck.

Deep.

Gohan screamed hard, and fell to his elbows, all movement halted.  His erection still throbbed against his pants and Vegeta's stomach.  His breathing came in sobs, terrified and desperate and pathetic.  

"'Geta-"

Gohan wheezed, his fingers twitching against his abdomen.

"…onegai…"

Vegeta did not answer verbally, but merely sucked and swallowed the iron, copper colored liquid down his throat and listened to the choking, suffocating sounds the boy couldn't even choke out into a scream while his body tightened around Vegeta like a snake, minute and intense tremors wracking the nerves.  

The boy could die like this, in this state, over an extended period.  He was barely breathing at all, and his chemistry zinging through his bloodstream in response to the mark.  

He wasn't pure Saiyan, so there was no way to tell if he'd be able to take the sudden blood loss or not.

Vegeta dug his teeth in further and swallowed, while Gohan made the shrill keen sound made when screaming is no longer an option.  

God, he tasted…raw.  

Bitter sweet and thick like a cleaner form of unrefined chocolate, like he was drinking adversity itself.  The blood of his own.

He had been right to wait, the taste punctuated by the needy, helpless mewls of his captor and hunter.  

God, he had been right to wait.  

The setting could have been better, with the boy beaten and bloody and naked beneath him, a scene his mind had taunted him with ever since his own mark, each time Gohan found himself asleep on the snow, but that could now be arranged.  

Given his hands free, that could be arranged in no time.  

The boy's voice alone warranted the experience would be beautiful, savage, the power of his lungs audible every time Vegeta moved his teeth the tiniest bit, his body on fire, an iron avatar that was centered solely on him.  

_//vegeta.//_

And he could feel his own body throb in response.  And he knew the boy could too.

He pressed hard and swallowed the excess blood that came through, and licked his lips clean before moving his mouth away to speak.

"Boy.  Get off."  

"…please, _please_, onegai, don't go, don't go, I'm sorry I can't, I can't help-"

"Get _off_.  And let me loose."

"Don't go."

"Let me loose.  You want me to take care of you, then I need my hands."

"I can't let you go.  I _won't_ let you leave again."

"Bakayarou.  Do you think you can get screwed in the position I'm in?"

There was a pause, and Vegeta fought hard not to smirk.

"…huh?"

"You want to come right?  You want to come so hard you can't walk, until it hurts, until you die you've been fucked front and back more times than you can ever count?  Isn't that right boy, that's what your dick is crying for?"

"…hai.  Onegai-"

"Let me go.  Let me go, and I can do that."

"Don't go."   

"I won't.  I'll screw you until you're blind and begging me to kill you instead."

Gohan said nothing; his shoulders shook gently as hot salty tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

"Onegai…"

"Let my hands _go_ boy--" Vegeta nearly growled, then paused, and purred.  "I can do things with these hands that you can't even _dream_…"

Vegeta found his face flattened against the linoleum as Gohan frantically pulled and yanked at his restraints, keening softly to himself.  

The moment Vegeta was free, Gohan found himself hammered solidly on the temple and stomach and thrown against the wall on his ass.  Vegeta stalked towards him, murder or something very much like it in his eyes and sunlight in his hair.

"Idiot."

Vegeta smirked.

Gohan screamed silently as intense pain flared metallic blue in the corner of his eyes, his jaw working as he stared into Vegeta's eyes, who was squeezing a little too hard at his balls and stroking him through his pants.  Vegeta smirked as the shocked look of the owner's face.  

"Idiot," he repeated, the smirk never leaving his face.

Gohan's eyes slid closed and his head lolled.  He let go of Gohan and took a step back.  Gohan stared open-mouthed.

"Well?  Take your pants off."

Gohan gaped.  Vegeta frowned.

"This is what you were begging for boy.  Take your damn pants off."

Gohan's expression became that of alarmed, and he shook his head from side to side.  Vegeta snarled.  

"Dammit boy, then I'll fucking do it-"

Gohan sped/teleported out of the room with a yip as Vegeta reached for him.  Vegeta followed suit into the living room.  Gohan backed away, hands out in front of him in a placating gesture after giving another yelp.

"What the _fuck_ do you-"

"Wait a sec, I mean, yeah, but, come on now isn't this a bit, um, a bit--"

"_What!_"

"I mean, can't we like, slow-"

"_Slow_?!"

"Yeah!  I mean no!  I mean, I mean, isn't this like a bit too, I thought that maybe we could just, you know, you know, you know, _yeek_!"

After tripping over various articles like the couch, his feet, the carpet, some small object had finally managed to trip Gohan onto his ass again, eyes wide and still terrified.

"We could _what_?"

"Um, kiss?"

Vegeta said nothing.  He simply glared, his lips curled up and teeth bared.

Gohan grinned the weak grin of the despairingly terrified.  Vegeta stared and drew in a breath as he took a step closer.  

He jerked slightly as he restrained himself from jumping the boy and putting an end it, and end to it all.  That smell…

There was that damn smell again.  There was that goddamned familiar foul smell again, oiling and dripping it's way into everything.  He fought the impulse to vomit.

He forced himself to take a slow breath.  He started to say something, blinked, and started again.

"Virgin?"

"Um, yes?"  //…_nearly_…//

"Hn.  Take off your pants."

"But I thought-"

"Shut up boy and take your goddamned pants off or I _will_!"

Gohan's eyes brightened, the grin dropped and his ki spiked viciously.  Vegeta stopped advancing.  He tilted his head the side, and surprisingly, chuckled.

"You afraid of me boy?"

"Yes."

  
"Afraid it'll hurt?"

"…Yes."

"Hn."

  
Vegeta walked towards him again, and Gohan escalated his ki in response.  His eyes glowed teal, power flicking from pathetic to phenomenal in the space of seconds.

Vegeta dropped onto his haunches in front of him.

"You shouldn't start something you aren't willing to finish boy."

Gohan said nothing.

"They would have torn you apart on Vegeta-sei."

  
Gohan said nothing, but his eyes narrowed and darkened.  Vegeta smirked deepened, and his voice lowered to rough wind against wood.  

"Drop you power boy, I'm not going to rape you."

"You first."

Black met teal.  

Gohan frowned uncertainly, and dropped his power.  Vegeta smirked.

"You break into my house to grope me and tie to a chair and you're worried that _I'll_ rape _you_?"

"Yes," shot out the reply.

"Idiot."

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry."  

Vegeta snickered.  

  
"No you're not."

"No.  No I'm not."  There was that same old anger.  "But…I want this gone Vegeta.  I want it gone now."

"Take the pills.  Wait it out."

"The pills aren't _working_, and I have no idea how long this will last, and neither do you.  Months, _years_ even.  I can't, I won't wait _that_ long."

"It won't be some slap-shod fix, it'll be permanent, boy?  Forever, for as long as one of us is alive," Vegeta purred dangerously, smirking.  Such naïveté was vaguely disgusting and humorous.  What the hell, right?

Vegeta trailed his fingers along Gohan's bangs.  Gohan jumped a little, and he fought the impulse to laugh in his face.  Even through the deep smell of fear, he could still smell the boy's own signature…

  
"What do you mean?"

"I mean you'll still come to me.  Go through with it now and you won't be able to forget it or put it behind you.  I'll be stuck with you."

"Would you hate me so much for that?"

_Hate?_

"…Wait it out."

  
"No.  Now…I want you now.  And if you don't mind…then I won't mind now going into what will be."

_I could take him.  I could take him now and he wouldn't fight._  

"You won't like what you're asking."

"I don't _care_!  I want it gone _now_.  Please Vegeta.  I'll do anything you want, anything at all.  Please?  I'll do anything, just help me."

_Anything?  Anything, well, that is something.  Tempting.  But you don't mean a word of it, do you?  Not really._

"It'll hurt."

"That's fine."

"Idiot."

"I know."

The boy looked up timidly and smiled shyly.  It was nice to have someone to talk to again.  Vegeta wasn't even glaring anymore, just looked a little smug, a little uncertain, and scrutinizing.  

"Thank you."

"Hn."

"So.  Where do we start?"

"Take off your pants."

Gohan's face blushed and his eyes widened, //_he's not serious_// while Vegeta exhaled softly under his breath.

"Or is that too much for you to handle?"

//_he's serious.  no doubt about it_.//

Gohan's hands moved slowly to his pants button, and undid it, sliding down the zipper, each click of the teeth sharp and tangible in the quiet.  He started to pull the labels down, blushing heavily, and stopped when Vegeta closed his hand over his.  

Gohan exhaled quickly.

Nervous coal met cool obsidian, confusion met clarity.  

Vegeta's hand was warm, his eyes intense and ciphering, watching the fear and resolution in the other.  He smirked suddenly, gripped Gohan's hand hard in his own and pressed down gently.  Gohan twitched, his eyes widened and Vegeta felt something throb.  Gohan blushed.

"Hn.  Not here.  Bedroom."

Vegeta started to pull his hand away until Gohan grabbed it, a bit surprised by his own actions, resolutely refusing to meet Vegeta's eyes while he kept his hand too close to his lap and held on.  Vegeta watched quietly as Gohan pressed his hand against his stomach, and covered it with his own.

//_that's not for you.  that's for me_.//

Vegeta didn't add pressure or move, kept relaxed as the boy did what he liked, rubbing his thumb over his hand before dragging it up his chest to rub against his cheek, making a small sound and a soft shudder.  

Gohan didn't want to be touched, he was trying to get used to the idea of Vegeta's skin and heat.  

Well, that was…fine.  Expected, in it's way.  At this point, with the boy's scent and heat and flesh _right there_, Vegeta didn't give a damn.

Gohan was desperate, hungry, visible in how he acted like a cat now, rubbing it under his jaw and over his cheek and across his eyes, getting the nerve to lick from Vegeta's elbow to kiss his wrist and suck against his palm.  He was making some sort of needy, whimpering purr that made Vegeta's legs clench.

Gohan was terrified.  

He wouldn't look at Vegeta, wouldn't even open his eyes.  He said he was a virgin, which he was in more ways than the simple defining.  This wasn't unlike the situation in the kitchen except (a) Vegeta was in control, (b) Gohan was more openly terrified, (c) Gohan was _under_ control.

The boy started to sniff Vegeta's skin, purring low in his throat and smiling hazily, his eyes slid shut, sucking alternately on Vegeta's knuckles and fingers.  The boy was going into a trance, back into Heat.  

_So easily?_

"Boy."

Gohan's eyes snapped open, irritated and possessive and lusty haziness.  Once his eyes met Vegeta's, the haze burned from his eyes, surprise and doubt with a shade of curiosity.

He took his mouth slowly from Vegeta's hand and held it tighter in his own, unable to break the other's gaze.  

"Yeah?"

The boy's voice was shaky, thin, yet clear.  Vegeta's voice was anything _but_ shaky; it was low, textured, and lukewarm.

"You sure?  I'm not going to waste a night fucking you just because you're scared of the dark."

Gohan wanted to stare at anything else, anything else at all than the deep darks he can feel incinerating his soul, and wants nothing more than to dive into the depths and be burned alive.  

He smiled weakly.

"You have someone else in mind?"

"None of your damn business."

"Yes.  Yes I'm sure it isn't."

Vegeta frowns, but Gohan continues before the sentence can leave his lips.  

"I am afraid, I know.  But I'm still willing to go for it.  If you are.  I mean, how bad can it be, right?"

"_Bastard_!  Go fuck-"

"I didn't mean that!"  Gohan clung to Vegeta's arm and was thrown forward a little as Vegeta pulled back sharply.  "You know I didn't mean that."

Gohan smiled suddenly, anxious, and leaned forward to brush a kiss against the elder's lips.  

"And I'm not gay either."

Vegeta pulled in a breath, and repressed a shiver at the smell.  He was momentarily pacified, but not much.

"Liar."

"Heh.  Nope.  Just me.  Just you.  Come on." 

Gohan began to stand, holding onto the elder's hand to pull him up with him.  Vegeta had other ideas though.  Vegeta rushed his body up and against  the boy's, pinning him into the wall and kissing him the most sensual and heavy kiss it shouldn't even have the right to be called that.  

Touches that intimate belonged in a category all of their own.  

He expected Gohan to pull away, to whimper, to try and stop him.  

To be the little fucking tease of Kakkarott's son that he had always been.

What Vegeta hadn't expected was a response.  

Gohan was submissive, hungry, yet eager and willing, opening his mouth and dancing his tongue with Vegeta's, the admirable hands wrapping around his back and massaging the muscles.

Vegeta pulled back and Gohan stared at him from under dark lashes, eyes black and misty ebony and put his tongue out to lick his lips.  His scent was right there.

_Fuck._

The Gohan's fingers combed through the dark hair, while his lips played back submissive and pliable, his body in a forced relax, his control holding on to the aloof and distant school boy image he'd always been while Vegeta laughed at the irony and the fire in the other's pants.  

But he didn't hurry him.  

Vegeta wanted to, could feel the blood and power the screamed his name and touch and longed to scream in response…but not for the boy.  Not that fast.  Gohan wore his mark now, and while it cut out the chemical static and played too many aphrodisiacs into his system, it also guaranteed the boy's place by his side.  

There---was time.  

Their tongues hustled slowly between them, and Vegeta growled a vibration just the feel the boy's control crack and fingers pull his hair and press a little closer to him.  

Gohan had surrendered, and he had total control over his claimer.  Over his supposed "dominant".

Vegeta smirked.  

They never did make it to the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~

A/N:

Hallo.  It's me here.  Um…right.  Can be reached at gelfling8604@yahoo.com, and if you want to send me anything there that's cool.  Yeah.  Sorry if this was a little confusing.  I didn't think it was, compared to the other stuff –say Faulkener-but I still kind of thought it might be.  Hope not though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:  Hello.  Er…this fic started in my head in jolts and was then put down on paper somewhere to be typed up, resulting in what you read now.  Up to now, I've never really thought that there may have been big gaps in the story that were not written down, and if there were, weren't really big gaps at all.  Sorry if there has been, and to try and fix it so there isn't any confusion.  

Facts: 

During the Majiin Buu series, it's hard to tell if Vegeta is really stronger than Gohan(after the Old Kai's training) or if they are actually equal.  I'm not sure.  I'm putting Gohan the physically stronger one in here. 

I've always thought a mating-bond is a type of severe mental link with someone else.  If it's stretched by distance or shut down, it feels like somebody's shut off a part of your own mind.  That's a little scary and could make you go insane.  Both Gohan and Vegeta are experiencing that or something like it: this is a two-sided bond.  I've heard of one-sided ones where the other person's opinion doesn't matter, and this one isn't it.  

You need both person's "Ok's" to make this type of bonding concrete.  

The only way to reincorporate the missing part of one's mind is to accept the other bond partner.  I do believe that if the bond was desired to be broken, death could accomplish that, and only one person would die, and then their mate would either be very sad for a long time, or would get a new mate.  Saiyans fought a lot, and people who fight a lot tend to die a lot.  Their race would have been exterminated a lot quicker if people started dying in two's instead of one's, and I've made it so that bonding is instinctual, not really voluntary.  Watching the Vegeta-sei raised Saiyans-Turles, Vegeta, Bardock, yadda yadda-it seems all Saiyans seem a little, or a lot, pissed at the universe at general for existing.  Could be biological.

Since Gohan marked-bit Vegeta first, he's the dominant male, and is supposed to appear more aggressive and moody, and through current life-threatening situations, is also physically stronger, since the more contact a Saiyan has with death the stronger he becomes.  Since Vegeta was the one who was marked, he's supposed to be the submissive male, and since he's **Vegeta** and a Saiyan with supposed training in telepathy, he's also probably the most mentally sane and in control of himself, but physically weaker than normal.

They are both feeling pretty sick, because their bodies and biology are out of whack, and likely experiencing depression and/or anxiety.  I feel kind of bad to do that, since I've only seen small hints of what _true_ depression is and it isn't a pretty sight, and I feel like I'm shortchanging it in my writing since I don't really understand it.  

Both people are denying any relationship pretty heavily, since the initial bond-mark-bite episode wasn't exactly consensual or planned.  

In this case, the bonding is an accident.

Sorry if any of this seemed a little redundant.  Wasn't sure what needed to be said and what didn't, so I said it all instead.

Gohan's style of thinking and writing is modeled after me.  It just seemed to work, and so I did it.  Not meant to be conceited or anything, it's just that if he sounds different from Vegeta or gets more attention than Vegeta does, that's why.  It works.


	10. Well Done Meat

A/N: The first lemon scene, not the only one. The others aren't like this, no worries. Becoming something of an epic, this one is.

~~~~~~~

Point of View 3 Style

His fingers touched my face like he meant it.

__

//predator, think predator. you can't trust him, you have no reason to, **don't trust** him. he'll hurt you. he hurts everyone, he even hurts himself you've seen it. he can't help it, he can't stop and neither can you, get out of there, you've got to get out of there get outta there **now**.// 

My eyes slid closed, shutting off my awareness of the outside world of everything except the warmth and rubbery laziness that covered my muscles and his fingers on me. I wondered what he was thinking when I did that. Showed how much he affected me, how little I was going to fight. 

Laughing, probably.

Laughing at me, how easily I succumbed, my weakness, my capriciousness.

Or maybe he was angry. He often was, and I could never really tell when or why or how; only Bulma-san and 'tousan (sometimes) seemed to have that magic Vegeta-meter in their anatomy. 

Needless to say, I felt very inadequate.

I wanted him to hurry. I wanted this over.

I needed to back off, there's defending what's mine, being stupid, losing, keeping, and strangling what's mine. 

He is mine. There's no need to worry about _that_ anymore, he is mine but… This limbo is killing me. 

Come on bastard, you frickin' monster, come and make your move. I know you want to, know you're waiting for it, quit dallying around in a circle and just _do_ it.

// _…hurts_//

At any rate, I surrendered, for a time, although reluctantly and he could do anything he wanted to me. Cut me, kill me-

His mouth brushed against my cheek,

-kiss me.

I cried out softly, then my temperature flared until my hearing burst. 

__

//he's gonna **laugh!// **

He had barely done anything, and I was excited like a high school prom virgin that won round trip tickets to the Sex Train to Heaven, and that wasn't even something I _wanted_ even if I _did_ fit the description. 

I was so pathetic.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, and he kissed me again.

~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hallo. There's a lemon scene, just like everyone was saying, and it can be found at the Gohan x Vegeta website:

~~~~~~~

Dream Style

Gohan dreams: 

The ground is warm and wet between his toes, pads of silt collected under the ball and heel of his feet. The smell of decaying compost and thriving flora is off set by a salty, mineral breeze, whispering in his ear after the tropical hurricane that had thrashed the treetops. 

He walks slowly through the growth, his back and abdomen nakedly clean and chilled in the temperate climate until he finds the animal.

It's a giant slate-blue yak with a cow's head.

His nostrils flare: the humidity only makes the bovine stench stronger. 

He climbs up a tree like a giant spider to get a better view of the creature, noting without thought that it looks now like an American bison, coarse hair around the head and thin fur on the sides. 

It's too big to move easily among the trees.

The creature stops grazing to stare him straight in the eye, and he experiences Double Destiny. One impulse commands his fingers to yank his stone knife out and get down to the ground, away where it was safe. He has no knife. One impulse commands his body to spring at the creature's back and break it's body and snap it's neck. 

He has no knife. 

Instinct.

Played out.

An elbow and shoulder blade feel bruised and cut after the struggle, and he has opened the stomach with his bare hands and teeth.

__

//greasy blue warmth ripped and pushed through –**stench-** spit/ pulled/ pushed/ ripped/ thrust//

//?//

He freezes, and then straightens quickly, surveying the size of the animal, before looking at his hands. His hands were dark and slippery with filth and mud. 

He presses one hand against his cool bare chest, and smears the goop down his stomach.

*

Vegeta dreams:

He skitters across the tile, disinfectant and polish flooding his nose. 

His back has been flogged and his sides stabbed; the wounds only glow and burn, but he doesn't feel pain. 

He doesn't slow down. 

Quiet voices buzz out of the ceiling: _Clever little…the demon isn't he?_\\_…shouldn't. He probably bites._ \\_Can… do tricks?_ _\\…Tricksy little…convince yourself first!// Good…you've gotten me excited._ \\

It's too dark, he can't see the walls, but knows where they are by the echoes of his footsteps. He doesn't know if he's running _to_ something or _away_, but he doesn't feel fear or anger. 

Only a sense of purpose.

Something he forgot. Something important. He's running around in the dark in a castle (it is.) he doesn't recognize, searching for something he doesn't know, and running from something he isn't afraid of.

He's being toyed with.

So he stops.

The nagging stays in his mind, calling him an idiot, urging him to run. He ignores it. He's gotten good at ignoring things. 

Something's wrong.

He opens his fighter's awareness, not searching with or for ki but with instinct that comes from a lifetime of expecting the blow. He can sense himself; sense a gray knot, a vague quiet sense of undercurrent energy whispering, but no enemy. No imminent danger. 

Hn. The knot then. 

He concentrates on it, and begins walking across the tile in the direction that calls, before stopping when he realizes it isn't there anymore.

Changed. It moved. It's running away from him.

__

Prey.

He follows.

~~~~~~~~

A/N: This visual was largely inspired by chapter 1 in Xero Sky's fic Inferno.

~~~~~~~~

Narrative style

The white washed walls of the domed enclosure stood out amid the swirling whiteness only through its immobility. The temperature was a little above freezing, light drift snow flying up like ruffled pigeons to resettle elsewhere while the air currents swirled and waited in the rafters.

A rectangle of black opened in the white blob, then closed, leaving only the bottom half dark and a speck of black at the top. 

Vegeta surveyed the mutable white with an air of relaxed superiority, a smug and lazy smile on his lips. 

He strolls out into the snow that comes up to his knees, the wind flapping the charcoal sweat pants against the muscles in his legs, snow melting and later steaming and evaporating on instant contact with his skin or even the air near him with a sizzling, satisfactory sound. 

He stops a few yards away from the house, small puddles of melted snow with hidden clumps of dormant linches revealed trailing him. 

He closes his eyes, the small sweet smile flickering in and out quietly, his arms crossed only casually over his bare chest. 

He stands like that quietly, nearly meditating. 

Then his eyes slide open and his smile dies. 

He starts to run out into the tundra to wash out his mouth with snow, chewing it between his teeth before spitting it out and swallowing more.

Gohan opened his eyes, wincing at the pain and light, and the tousled cotton sheets that were the first thing to meet his eyes. 

He closed them again. 

He didn't need to look to know he was alone.

~~~~~~~

Foggy Narrative Style

Squirming, he hurt all over. By that time, his knee and shoulder were not the only major injuries he had sustained. It was impossible to tell the time, the lights were all turned off and the sunlight useless and absent. 

Wincing, twitching, he struggled against the barbed wire nerves that were tirelessly telling him of his numerous injuries of bruised and torn flesh. Even his bones hurt, but he didn't think any of them were broken. 

From the scrambled and fried memories he had of last night's battle, he couldn't remember any of them being broken. At least one thing turned out right: Vegeta had been furious. And he had been more than a little rough.

Gohan winced as he placed his feet on the floor, and tried to persuade them that they were supposed to flat, and not curled like a bird's claws. There was an interesting masochistic giddy moment as he felt his muscles and bones creak and splinter as they tried to re-align themselves in correct lines. He pressed them into the floor, leaning on his knees with his arms, testing to see if his feet could take his weight. 

It looked strange, feet. Two fairly pale flat appendages that looked pretty fragile when one thought about it. And then there were all those toes. How could they possibly be useful, just sticking out like that, and being so small? Strange. Indeed. 

Damn.

He knew his ribs and pelvis wouldn't be able to walk for at least another day, or a few hours at the very least. There was no way he was walking anywhere soon, his thighs wouldn't even be able to stumble to the bathroom in the condition they were in. And in accordance to whatever Murphy Fucker Laws that were currently presiding over his life, he had to get to the bathroom immediately and was nowhere near the fatigued mental state that would allow him total indifference to where he released. 

Gently, painfully, he trickled to his knees before falling heavily onto his arms, gasping more than a little, the sheer amount of pain he was feeling astounding him. He hadn't thought he was that hurt, yet the amount of pain he was feeling said otherwise. Amazing. Right.

He wished, very quickly, that he didn't have to be a youthful strong Saiyan that never asked for help and was completely self-sufficient and then some. He wished, even quicker, that he could ask someone for help. He wished even more there was someone around for him to ask and be embarrassed and refused by.

After that interesting bit of information, he eased himself forward until he was laying flat along the floor on his elbows. His heavy breathing sounded loud in the empty house, disconcertingly too loud to his own ears. He couldn't even hear the wind. His knees were of only minor help in mobility; he had to rely on his arms.

It was a long, slow journey before he reached the bathroom.

He wasn't fast enough to get there in time, but he was fast enough to take a shower afterwards. 

~~~~~~~

The Morning After Style

Of course it didn't stop there. 

Bond mates between same sexes were unusual, since they didn't serve any biological purpose, such as producing offspring that would have the same favorable characteristics and strengths as the parents had. Between two females and especially for two males this was nearly impossible. 

They had met in the kitchen, Vegeta shirtless and irritable because of the cold and other things, and Gohan licking his wounds and eating some very stale bread. Gohan had looked up the minute he heard the door slam, felt himself blush involuntarily, and had swallowed awkwardly. Vegeta had taken one look at him and had fought down the bitter urge to break Gohan's neck and beat his head off. 

Their eyes had met.

The dam had burst.

Mutual consent had been requested and received. 

Hands slapped and pulled and stroked and hit, teeth scraped over shoulders and mouths attempted to devour any and all in reach while their bodies flattened and ran together without thought. 

The coupling was frantic and fast, without preamble or embarrassment, and obviously controlled by Vegeta. Gohan came after a few seconds, rough, messy, without even time for a decent scream or a lasting amount of satisfaction. 

It seemed oddly anti-climatic after all his labors, all his efforts to get Vegeta to be with him and stay near him. He fought off the waves of resentment and disappointed, and simply tried to hold one while he was ridden hard, long, even after Vegeta came and marked him as his own again and again. 

Gohan needn't have worried. His libido was at its peak, his arousal returning in a rush and quickly swallowed and stroked and imploded by the stimulation to his prostrate.

They never spoke, except to scream and swear.

__

ice glossed over my skin, his name on my lips his name

~~~~~~~

Medical Style?

The boy was contradiction.

This was something Vegeta had always known. Shy, hesitant, slow to action but so _responsive_, to anything. 

From the looks Vegeta casually threw him while the boy cooked, to slight shifts in the intonation of his voice that could grab the boy faster than a frenzy and have him blushing, to slight, casual touches. 

It was fun to play with the boy. It was better to fuck him. 

Those were definitely the highlights of Vegeta's day, sometimes even too intense and thick even for him. Gohan was always enthusiastic, always eager, and rarely tired. Surprisingly, once the lights were out, the boy was rough, even casually masochistic, and often hostile, though he always let Vegeta dominate. 

Control lay precariously defined between them, with the Gohan the stronger and occasionally even more aggressive, yet Vegeta the more vicious and dominate. 

As long as he was fucked regularly, the violence and famine of the Heat didn't affect the boy, and Vegeta was allowed control. 

Vegeta normally hated ultimatums, but for this he was willing to tolerate. He could be as rough or cruel with the boy as he liked, and the boy responded in kind, scratching and biting and swearing _far_ more badly than what Vegeta often did. 

Gohan kept his word also; he let Vegeta do _whatever he wanted_. And he would do anything Vegeta asked. Anything. What's more, he appeared to _enjoy_ it. The boy was a contradiction. 

The boy was contradiction every fucking day they did. 

The only real problem was that the brat was so damn clingy; he couldn't stand to have Vegeta more than a few feet from him, and followed him when Vegeta needed time on his own. Naturally, this pissed Vegeta off.

Gohan could be as clingy and cozy with his friends and family as he liked, but Vegeta was neither. The first time he had kindly told the boy to fuck off, to which Gohan had responded that was _exactly_ what he was there for.

They had progressed to a mild fist-fight, the boy fighting, and wound up groping Vegeta instead and having sex on the ice, which _must've_ been uncomfortable for the boy's backside, but he never hesitated or stopped. He only urged for more, and watched Vegeta from under his dark lashes in a way that was so incredibly slutty and bitchy and cheap it had disturbed Vegeta more than anything else. 

In the end, it was Vegeta that got disgruntled about it first. It was never enough for Gohan. It wasn't just that he had to have sex nearly every 15 minutes, but he went mad when Vegeta left his sight. A couple of times it had taken rocket-punches into the neck and into the groin to get Gohan off, and last time it had taken a rather painful amount of ki above his tail scar to beat the bastard off. Vegeta revoked his earlier sentiments about Gohan being too human to try something as reckless as rape. 

Gohan _wasn't_ too human not to try it.

He bitched and whined until they were both at each other's necks, literally, and Vegeta really had to admire how quickly Gohan's body had healed itself for something that wasn't pure Saiyan. 

Natural quick healing may have been an attribute that all demi-Saiyans had and had never been explored, as their ability to gather energy easier than either humans or full-blooded Saiyans, or it simply may have been that the hormones induced by Heat were causing his metabolism to go up and repair the flesh faster than normal and acting as natural painkillers to any discomfort he was feeling.

~~~~~~~

Errgh…Hm. DiJon, you weren't supposed to read this. If you did, you're an idiot and it's your own fault so there. 


	11. Melodrama

A/N: I HAVE REVIEWERS!  Da da dee dum…yeah!  Hee hee…people like it.  They really do.  Yay yay yay.  I love you, and in regards to this chapter…can we say MELODRAMA?  It is.  _No_ kidding.

Oh yeah…this part?  Lemony.  REALLY.

//_Gohan's thoughts_//

_Vegeta's thoughts_

_||Vegeta's Other thoughts||_

~~~~~~~~

Point of View 3 Style

His fingers touched my face like he meant it.

_//predator, think predator.  you can't trust him, you have no reason to, **don't trust** him.  he'll hurt you.  he hurts everyone, he even hurts himself you've seen it.  he can't help it, he can't stop and neither can you, get out of there, you've got to  get out of there get outta there **now**.//_

My eyes slid closed, shutting off my awareness of the outside world of everything except the warmth and rubbery laziness that covered my muscles and his fingers on me.  I wondered what he was thinking when I did that.  Showed how much he affected me, how little I was going to fight.  

Laughing, probably.

Laughing at me, how easily I succumbed, my weakness, my capriciousness.

Or maybe he was angry.  He often was, and I could never really tell when or why or how; only Bulma-san and 'tousan (sometimes) seemed to have that magic Vegeta-meter in their anatomy.  

Needless to say, I felt very inadequate.

I wanted him to hurry.  I wanted this over.

I needed to back off, there's defending what's mine, being stupid, losing, keeping, and strangling what's mine.  

He is mine.  There's no need to worry about _that_ anymore, he is mine but… This limbo is killing me.  

Come on bastard, you frickin' monster, come and make your move.  I know you want to, know you're waiting for it, quit dallying around in a circle and just _do_ it.

// _…hurts_//

At any rate, I surrendered, for a time, although reluctantly and he could do anything he wanted to me.  Cut me, kill me-

His mouth brushed against my cheek,

-kiss me.

I cried out softly, then my temperature flared until my hearing burst.  

_//he's gonna **laugh!//**_

He had barely done anything, and I was excited like a high school prom virgin that won round trip tickets to the Sex Train to Heaven, and that wasn't even something I _wanted_ even if I _did_ fit the description.  

I was so pathetic.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, and he kissed me again.

~~~~~~~~

Mental Sub-Style

Pushed his shoulder _hard_ off balance, sharp splintery rough pain at the junction of his shoulder, the ball joint, nearly knocking the eight ball out.  Knocking it hard to the ground with the sharp of his palm.  Nearly rendering it useless.  Knocking him to the floor, into the carpet, while he struggled to get up and take what was by biology promised.

A hard, funny kick to the inside side of his knee, the cap of his knee, the brass hinge of his knee, while he was splayed out on the floor.  Pain, a strange almost stretching feeling in his leg quickly forgotten.

_//attack!//_

Hard sharp teeth clicking against his own, hot and sweltering sweaty humid.  Smell of burning, clean smoke, blue tobacco mist.  

Tally situation:

One arm and leg were hurt, now swelling, and he'd be unable to use them immediately well unless he got _incredibly_ angry and didn't care if he would break them more.  Divide and conquer.  Pull them apart then pick at the pieces and the prize is delivered thusly.

Why?

Lips on his lips.  

Hard rough fingers on him, ripping and yanking his clothes off, pushing and slamming his own arching and anxious body back onto the floor.

__That one time…When they had been more than mere equals, and Gohan had been in control and Vegeta hadn't._

_…like rain on crystal on air like snow on stars and space and dark the darkest beauties…__

Sloppy slurpy warm licks down the line of his neck, his flanks bare against the rough dirty carpet that he'd been sick on.  

Lips suckled and licked at his eyelids, over the slender junction of his nose and brow, down his cheeks and into his mouth.  Trying to eat him, the mouth was trying to eat him, trying to eat him all **up**.

Swapping spit.

Swapping a _lot_ of boiling milky-spicy saliva infused with alcohol and stimulants.  

Rough impatient hands shoved between his thighs and pushed them open, stroking roughly over his erection, fogging into his skin and teeth biting when he thrashed and shouted and screamed.  

He dug his fingers into the bronzed tiled back, smooth and slippery above him.  

Scents swirled and mixed in the air currents, heat forming a bean-like shell around them while the wind missiled the outside with ice and cold.  

One arm holding down on his hips, something like a wooden eraser dripping wet shoved thrust pushed _up(?!)_ his ass.  

He cried out once, and tried to squirm away, revulsion and a mixture of pain, humiliation, and fear flooding his mind.  Had to get out, out of there out of his life, had to get out of there before something happened that wasn't supposed to.  

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He was entered hard.

He screamed hard, loud, sharp and raw like spring's new grass, like crimson blood against metal that was new that it was wrong, it was all wrong, this wasn't supposed to happen and he wanted it.

His body seemed to freeze, paralyze, and his limbs and nerves screamed to move, to twitch, and to scrape and claw and fight and hit and he couldn't _do_ it.  He couldn't move.  He was cold, he was burning, his nerves were dancing frantically and dying everywhere and he could smell blood-his blood-thick in the air.  

He was alone.  In his pain, in his mind, he scratched his nails against the walls until they were bloody and the bones were grinding in sharp sounds and he couldn't move.  He couldn't move.  It was cold and smelled like concrete.  He was alone.

Above him, over the sound of his own screams, empty words, and heartbeat he could hear snarls and low growls, not like a dog but something bigger, like a bear or wolf, the old ones from the Norse legends, a deep metallic rumbling baritone sub-terrain earth level that the humanoid diaphragm simply couldn't produce.  

It was alien and primitive, more like making love (love?) to a wild beast than anything associated with cutlery.  

The wind screamed and crashed like the Atlantic Ocean.  

Interspersed by his dropping acuity due to blood loss, endorphins, and the certain knowledge of death, he was able to hear mixed obscenities, but still in that voice.  

That bottomless, leaden voice.  

His enthusiasm returned in a rush to him as a mouth found his, teeth forgotten for once.  Affection, eagerness and a kind of relieved authenticity played on his wounded lips and pride, a tongue seducing his own to dance.  

He latched onto it eagerly, starved and desperate, pulling and sucking hard out the tongue as if it were a completely different part of the anatomy.  

Something like a groan, or a laugh or possibly a curse vibrated down his throat, and he swallowed it.  

Attention.  

//_any at all, just don't leave me alone.//_  

His mouth was yanked suddenly as the other threw back his head and screamed his victory, his superiority, and his pleasure.  He arched and screamed a pathetic little sparrow's squawk as something wet and warm flooded him where it wasn't supposed to.  His heart was beating so hard he was blind.  He was going to die.  He was going to die.  His heart was beating too hard, he could smell too much of his own blood in the air, and there was so much pain and relief fighting in him it _hurt_.

He tried to pull air into his lungs through a straw between his lips on the carpet, and then his stomach hurt because it was folded over a shoulder.  

Feelings not his own twitched and jerked slowly into his mind: wonder, anxiety, pleasure, lust, and definite conquest.

_You haven't……yet.  You … conquered me yet.  …… won't …, brat.  The night … over yet._

The next thing he knew he was tossed on something flat that yielded, covered with cloth.  Hot humid flesh covered his mouth, and he welcomed it.  Hot humidity traced and teased down and around his body, he could hear his own sounds, and engulfed him.  

He stopped thinking. 

~~~~~~~

A/N: The first lemon scene, not the only one.  The others aren't like this, no worries.  Becoming something of an epic, this one is.

~~~~~~~

Dream Style

Gohan dreams:  

The ground is warm and wet between his toes, pads of silt collected under the ball and heel of his feet.  The smell of decaying compost and thriving flora is off set by a salty, mineral breeze, whispering in his ear after the tropical hurricane that had thrashed the treetops.  

He walks slowly through the growth, his back and abdomen nakedly clean and chilled in the temperate climate until he finds the animal.

It's a giant slate-blue yak with a cow's head.

His nostrils flare: the humidity only makes the bovine stench stronger.  

He climbs up a tree like a giant spider to get a better view of the creature, noting without thought that it looks now like an American bison, coarse hair around the head and thin fur on the sides.  

It's too big to move easily among the trees.

The creature stops grazing to stare him straight in the eye, and he experiences Double Destiny.  One impulse commands his fingers to yank his stone knife out and get down to the ground, away where it was safe.  He has no knife.  One impulse commands his body to spring at the creature's back and break it's body and snap it's neck.  

He has no knife.  

Instinct.

Played out.

An elbow and shoulder blade feel bruised and cut after the struggle, and he has opened the stomach with his bare hands and teeth.

_//greasy blue warmth ripped and pushed through –**stench-** spit/ pulled/ pushed/ ripped/ thrust//_

//?//

He freezes, and then straightens quickly, surveying the size of the animal, before looking at his hands.  His hands were dark and slippery with filth and mud.  

He presses one hand against his cool bare chest, and smears the goop down his stomach.

*

Vegeta dreams: 

He skitters across the tile, disinfectant and polish flooding his nose.  

His back has been flogged and his sides stabbed; the wounds only glow and burn, but he doesn't feel pain.  

He doesn't slow down.  

Quiet voices buzz out of the ceiling: _Clever little…the demon isn't he?_\\_…shouldn't.  He probably bites._ \\_Can… do tricks?_ _\\…Tricksy little…__convince yourself first!// Good…you've gotten me excited._ \\

It's too dark, he can't see the walls, but knows where they are by the echoes of his footsteps.  He doesn't know if he's running _to_ something or _away_, but he doesn't feel fear or anger.  

Only a sense of purpose.

Something he forgot.  Something important.  He's running around in the dark in a castle (it is.) he doesn't recognize, searching for something he doesn't know, and running from something he isn't afraid of.

He's being toyed with.

So he stops.

The nagging stays in his mind, calling him an idiot, urging him to run.  He ignores it.  He's gotten good at ignoring things.  

Something's wrong.

He opens his fighter's awareness, not searching with or for ki but with instinct that comes from a lifetime of expecting the blow.  He can sense himself; sense a gray knot, a vague quiet sense of undercurrent energy whispering, but no enemy.  No imminent danger.  

Hn.  The knot then.  

He concentrates on it, and begins walking across the tile in the direction that calls, before stopping when he realizes it isn't there anymore.

Changed.  It moved.  It's running away from him.

_Prey._

He follows.

~~~~~~~~

A/N: This visual was largely inspired by chapter 1 in Xero Sky's fic Inferno.

~~~~~~~~

Narrative style

The white washed walls of the domed enclosure stood out amid the swirling whiteness only through its immobility.  The temperature was a little above freezing, light drift snow flying up like pigeons to resettle elsewhere while the air currents swirled and waited in the rafters.

A rectangle of black opened in the white blob, then closed, leaving only the bottom half dark and a speck of black at the top.  

Vegeta surveyed the mutable white with an air of relaxed superiority, a smug and lazy smile on his lips.  

He strolls out into the snow that comes up to his knees, the wind flapping the charcoal sweat pants against the muscles in his legs, snow melting and later steaming and evaporating on instant contact with his skin or even the air near him.  

He stops a few yards away from the house, small puddles of melted snow with hidden clumps of dormant linches revealed trailing him.  

He closes his eyes, the small sweet smile flickering in and out, his arms crossed only casually over his bare chest.  

He stands like that quietly, nearly meditating.  

Then his eyes slide open and his smile dies.  

He starts to run out into the tundra to wash out his mouth with snow, chewing it between his teeth before spitting it out and swallowing more.

Gohan opened his eyes, wincing at the pain and light, and the tousled cotton sheets that were the first thing to meet his eyes.  

He closed them again.  

He didn't need to look to know he was alone.

~~~~~~~

Morning-After Style

Squirming, he hurt all over.  By that time, his knee and shoulder were not the only major injuries he had sustained.  It was impossible to tell the time, the lights were all turned off and the sunlight useless and absent.  

Wincing, twitching, he struggled against the barbed wire nerves that were tirelessly telling him of his numerous injuries of bruised and torn flesh.  Even his bones hurt, but he didn't think any of them were broken.  

From the scrambled and fried memories he had of last night's battle, he couldn't remember any of them being broken.  At least one thing turned out right: Vegeta had been furious.  And he had been more than a little rough.

Gohan winced as he placed his feet on the floor, and tried to persuade them that they were supposed to flat, and not curled like a bird's claws.  There was an interesting masochistic giddy moment as he felt his muscles and bones creak and splinter as they tried to re-align themselves in correct lines.  He pressed them into the floor, leaning on his knees with his arms, testing to see if his feet could take his weight.  

It looked strange, feet.  Two fairly pale flat appendages that looked pretty fragile when one thought about it.  And then there were all those toes.  How could they possibly be useful, just sticking out like that, and being so small?  Strange.  Indeed.  

Damn.

He knew his ribs and pelvis wouldn't be able to walk for at least another day, or a few hours at the very least.  There was no way he was walking anywhere soon, his thighs wouldn't even be able to stumble to the bathroom in the condition they were in.  And in accordance to whatever Murphy Fucker Laws that were currently presiding over his life, he had to get to the bathroom immediately and was nowhere near the fatigued mental state that would allow him total indifference to where he released.  

Gently, painfully, he trickled to his knees before falling heavily onto his arms, gasping more than a little, the sheer amount of pain he was feeling astounding him.  He hadn't thought he was that hurt, yet the amount of pain he was feeling said otherwise.  Amazing. Right.

He wished, very quickly, that he didn't have to be a youthful strong Saiyan that never asked for help and was completely self-sufficient and then some.  He wished, even quicker, that he could ask someone for help.  He wished even more there was someone around for him to ask and be embarrassed by.

After that interesting bit of information, he eased himself forward until he was laying flat along the floor on his elbows.  His heavy breathing sounded loud in the empty house, disconcertingly too loud to his own ears.  He couldn't even hear the wind.  His knees were of only minor help in mobility; he had to rely on his arms.

It was a long, slow journey before he reached the bathroom.

He wasn't fast enough to get there in time, but he _was_ fast enough to take a shower afterwards.  

~~~~~~~

Documentary Style

Of course it didn't stop there.  

Bond mates between same sexes were unusual, since they didn't serve any biological purpose, such as producing offspring that would have the same favorable characteristics and strengths as the parents had.  Between two females and especially for two males this was nearly impossible.  

They had met in the kitchen, Vegeta shirtless and irritable because of the cold and other things, and Gohan licking his wounds and eating some very stale bread.  Gohan had looked up the minute he heard the door slam, felt himself blush involuntarily, and swallowed awkwardly.  Vegeta had taken one look at him and had fought down the bitter urge to break Gohan's neck and beat his head off.  

Their eyes had met.

The dam had burst.

Mutual consent had been requested and received.  

Hands slapped and pulled and stroked and hit, teeth scraped over shoulders and mouths attempted to devour any and all in reach while their bodies flattened and ran together without thought.  

The coupling was frantic and fast, without preamble or embarrassment, and obviously controlled by Vegeta.  Gohan came after a few seconds, rough, messy, without even time for a decent scream or a lasting amount of satisfaction.  

It seemed oddly anti-climatic after all his labors, all his efforts to get Vegeta to be with him and stay near him.  He fought off the waves of resentment and disappointed, and simply tried to hold one while he was ridden hard, long, even after Vegeta came and marked him as his own again and again.  

Gohan needn't have worried.  His libido was at its peak, his arousal returning in a rush and quickly swallowed and stroked and imploded by the stimulation to his prostrate.

They never spoke, except to scream and swear.

_ice glossed over my skin, his name on my lips his name_

~~~~~~~

Analyzing Style

The boy was contradiction.

This was something Vegeta had always known.  Shy, hesitant, slow to action but so _responsive_, to anything.  

From the looks Vegeta casually threw him while the boy cooked, to slight shifts in the intonation of his voice that could grab the boy faster than a frenzy and have him blushing, to slight, casual touches.  

It was fun to play with the boy.  It was better to fuck him.  

Those were definitely the highlights of Vegeta's day, sometimes even too intense and thick even for him.  Gohan was always enthusiastic, always eager, and rarely tired.  Surprisingly, once the lights were out, the boy was rough, even casually masochistic, and often hostile, though he always let Vegeta dominate.  

Control lay precariously defined between them, with the Gohan the stronger and occasionally even more aggressive, yet Vegeta the more vicious and dominate.  

As long as he was fucked regularly, the violence and famine of the Heat didn't affect the boy, and Vegeta was allowed control.  

Vegeta normally hated ultimatums, but for this he was willing to tolerate.  He could be as rough or cruel with the boy as he liked, and the boy responded in kind, scratching and biting and swearing _far_ more badly than what Vegeta often did.  

Gohan kept his word also; he let Vegeta do _whatever he wanted_.  From begging and whimpering, to little games where his blood flowed all over the bathroom and painted Vegeta's teeth a _deeply_ satisfying pink tint.  And he would do anything Vegeta asked.  Anything.  What's more, he appeared to _enjoy_ it.  The boy was a contradiction.  

The boy was contradiction every fucking day they did.  

The only real problem was that the brat was so damn clingy; he couldn't stand to have Vegeta more than a few feet from him, and followed him when Vegeta needed time on his own.  Naturally, this pissed Vegeta off. 

Gohan could be as clingy and cozy with his friends and family as he liked, but Vegeta was neither.  The first time he had kindly told the boy to fuck off, to which Gohan had responded that was _exactly_ what he was there for. 

 They had progressed to a mild fist-fight, the boy fighting, and wound up groping Vegeta instead and having sex on the ice, which _must've_ been uncomfortable for the boy's backside, but he never hesitated or stopped.  He only urged for more, and watched Vegeta from under his dark lashes in a way that was so incredibly slutty and bitchy and cheap it had disgusted Vegeta more than anything else and had turned him on incredibly.  He has so much _power_ over Gohan.  Infinite, and total, except for anything that contradicted Gohan's desires.  

In the end, it was Vegeta that got disgruntled about it first.  It was never enough for Gohan.  

It wasn't just that he had to have sex nearly every 15 minutes, but he went mad when Vegeta left his sight.  A couple of times it had taken rocket-punches into the neck and in the balls to get Gohan off, and last time it had taken a rather painful amount of ki above his tail scar to beat the bastard off.  Vegeta revoked his earlier sentiments about Gohan being too human to try something as reckless as rape.  Gohan _wasn't_ too human not to try it.

He bitched and whined until they were both at each other's necks, literally, and Vegeta really had to admire how quickly Gohan's body had healed itself for something that wasn't pure Saiyan.  

Natural quick healing may have been an attribute that all demi-Saiyans had and had never been explored, as their ability to gather energy easier than either humans or full-blooded Saiyans, or it simply may have been that the hormones induced by Heat were causing his metabolism to go up and repair the flesh faster than normal and acting as natural painkillers to any discomfort he was feeling.

The blood was mixed, Saiyans didn't normally bond-mate during Heat; it was too risky.  There was no telling if the appropriate or chosen mate would be selected, or that both parties would not be mortally injured in the exchange.  

The boy was fucked up all over.  

It actually would have helped if Vegeta had given him some advice, but he had had no idea that a half-breed human raised mongrel could possibly conceive of knowing how to bond mate.  He had known Gohan would be out for sex, but he never expected that he would be searching for a permanent partner as well, much less would be able to claim one.  

~~~~~~~~

A/N:   *Grins* *Sing-song voice*  I've caught people's int-rest, I've caught peoples' in-trest…Convert my darlings, convert!  Convert to the Vegeta-Gohan clan!  We are small in numbers, but strong in rabid fangirl enthusiasm!  Convert I say!

ahh, melodrama.  And angst.  I need to get a new genre, this one is –killing- me.  Ah….I've been reading _far_ too much Ann Rice…all vampires are so freakin' dramatic and wussy sometimes, I just don't know.


	12. Fight

~~~~~

One of the major problems for Vegeta had been was how much Gohan resembled Kakkarott.  They were both shockingly identical, not quite so much as Goku and Goten, but still enough to inspire lip-curling memories in Vegeta.  And while the boy was a supposed intellectual prodigy, he still pretended to be as naïve as his father did, and while Goku only imitated ningens, Gohan _was_ half ningen.  The Saiyan elements could only be seen when he was fighting and during intense flashes of emotions like anger. 

It was…irritating. 

It was degrading.

~~~~

We got into another fight again.  He snaps out at me for no reason, whining, swearing, and hurting me until I finally lash back at him.  He likes getting a rise out of me, likes making me lose control.  

He likes hurting me, laughs when I punch him and nearly crush the bone beneath the muscle, and likes it more when he just beats the crap out of me.  He's done it a few times now, and I've done it enough to him.  

I'm surprised we're still breathing and able to have sex.  Must be the high metabolism.  Saiyan blood heals super fast, but our bodies are actually repairing themselves faster than normal.  We're eating a lot.  

He hates it when I try to spar with him, but loves to beat me up.  Called me a slut last time I tried, a filthy greedy whore that wasn't smart enough to jerk himself off to save his life.  He's a jerk about things like that.  He's a real jerk.  I sort of care, but not too much.  Mostly, he's just a jerk.

I said I was smart enough to make him scream when he came.  I said, If I was so damn filthy, why was he always so eager to touch me, even in fighting?  

I called him a teenager.  I think it pissed him off.

He said I was an easy piece of meat too stupid to choose a proper mate, just like my father.  

I must have given a sign.  I dunno…but he really went on about it.  You'd think he'd have the decency to leave it alone after a while, but I've never known him to leave anything alone out of decency.  He's not a decent kind of person.  Still, this whole thing is wearing me out.

He smirked, sneered, and started talking about Dad.  Jerk.  Calling him lots of things, an idiot, a retard, words like Neolithic and "built like a bull" and "soul of a jackass".  

I asked, What the hell would you know about souls?  

He didn't answer, didn't seem to care, and said something about buffalo.  And other things.  Baka.  Harpy.  Coward.  I shouted something emotional—I probably shouldn't have, but at that point I really didn't care.  I just wanted him to shut up.  He didn't have a soul anyway, so what would he know about how hard it was to keep one?  He wasn't a fighter, he was just a bully.  Just a bully.  I called him that, and I know it ticked him off something awful.  It didn't stop him though; just made him angrier.  It was kind of a stupid thing for me to say, now that I think about it.

He grinned, and kept going at it harder.  If we weren't killing each other, hitting each other already, it was because we were tired.  Simple as that.  Our bodies healed, but the pain lingered and energy left.  

I forgot what he said next, but I remember it hurt, and I know what I said next hurt him too.  

"Why the fuck should I know a damn about monkey bonding!  No, that's right, no I _didn't_ know!  If I did, if I had, I never would have touched you!  I never, _ever_, wanted--" and I ground the last word out while he stared at me.  He didn't think I would complete the sentence, like one hope no one will pull the trigger.

But I did.  I did.  

I'm not sure what happened next, but I know he hit me pretty hard in the kidneys.  Maybe in the kidneys.  That general area.  It hurt a lot, hurt so much; I wasn't really concentrating on where he hit me.  I remember I hurt so bad that I fell out of time with reality.  I could feel something flowing warm.  It felt nice, but I hurt so much.  

Flew straight through the walls into the snow for a while.  Snow's cold, and it's pretty gritty too.  People say it's soft, but it's really gritty and hard.  

He gripped my throat and picked me up, and hit me hard in the face over and over.  He hit me in the jaw, fractured it, and I fell back into the snow, on my stomach.  

He followed, and crouched, and I drove my heel into his solar plexus and spun to break some of his ribs.  I did, though.  Break some of his ribs, that is.  

He made something in me bleed, and I spit up blood.  

We kept at it for a while; I'm not sure how long.  The sunlight doesn't change a whole lot here.  A while though, I'm sure.

After a while we slowed down, stopped, and just crouched clumsily and watched each other.  Against anyone else, in any other fight, we would have traded banter.  Goaded.  Complemented each other and fool around until our energy was back up.  But Vegeta has always been pretty quiet, a bit of a loner.  He took things to seriously to joke about them.  And…he wasn't taking this seriously, even though he didn't want to.  Taking me seriously even though he didn't think I was worth his time.  So we didn't say anything.  

His eyes were dark, calculating, and studying me.  He straightened a little, and inhaled deeply, exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled.  His ribcage moved up and down.  He relaxed his left arm and twisted it around, testing it.  

I had gotten him pretty good there too; had really torn a piece out him with my teeth.  

He straightened completely and communed with his eyes.  

He was ready and able.  

Now.

There were two big reasons I hated to fight him: One was I felt exhausted and wounded always.  Two was that we had to touch each other.  Anytime our skin touched, our pituitary glands would start sending little messages to parts of our bodies.  Our awareness heightened, pulse increased, and there was a huge rush of hormones.  Tingling, kiwi green evil, evil little hormones, making me think things I normally wouldn't.  Making me want things I normally wouldn't.  Evil, evil little hormones in my blood.

My fingers tingled.  My knuckles burned.  I was trembling all over.  Warm.  I could feel every hair on my body; even the little ones on my arms stood straight up.  My throat sounded like wet laundry.  Clarity.

He spoke quietly, "Get on your hands and knees."  

I stared back and nearly couldn't believe him.  

I knew what he meant; we did it that way a lot.  He liked it that way.  Called me his bitch, fucking just like a dog in heat.  Plus he didn't have to see my eyes.

But after everything he said…everything I said…

He frowned his eyes without moving his mouth, and spoke in a voice that belonged to a professional killer and king.  A voice that already knew it would be obeyed.  Knew that I didn't have a choice, and didn't bother to offer me one.

"Get on your hands and knees."

So I did.  I blinked, and went down to one knee, careful with my guts.  

"Take your clothes off while you're at it."  

I paused again, put myself carefully into a strong wooden box far away from where I really was, where I would be safe.  Them I took off my shirt, minding how it caught my chin, and pulled off my boxers, and shoved them off to the side, noting that his clothes were on the ground and opposite of my clothes, with him and I in between the two piles.  

Two separate beings with only sex in the middle.  

I had opened my mouth to breathe; my heart was a drum, my body a toaster.  I could smell him strong over my back.  I didn't feel a thing.  I just knew it was happening, that's all.  

His hands were coals when he touched my back, I yelped a little, and traced my muscles, traced some bruises, traced some scars.  

Senzu doesn't work if you don't have it.  

I was panting then, ready and able.  Just waiting for him to decide when to start.  He moved in slowly, stretching me, and I shuddered and gasped a little every time something was touched.  I wasn't there at all.  

"You know…boy," he whispered, rasped, into my ear, fully against my back.  He could make anything sound good, with his voice, dark and clean like nighttime water.  I was beginning to not-like his voice because of the things he could do with it, the good things he could make come out of it.

"It's too bad you had to kill her.  This wouldn't have happened," he purred over the words, making my hair rise and skin quiver, "if you hadn't killed her."  

My breathing caught.  He ran his fingers across my chest, dipping and touching.  

"It would be her touching you now…Can you feel her fingers touching you?"  

I could feel him grin in that dark, delicious, seductive way he had right before he got something he wanted.  Right before he moved.  His voice was low and raspy, sexy, barely audible, forcing me to try to hear him.  

"Remember how she squirmed when you tried to take her?"  

No.  He wasn't supposed--his tongue licked against my neck, and curled around the shell of my ear.  He purred softly, "The way she arched, screamed under you, scratched you back and wrapped her legs around you and _squeezed_," I shuddered hard and whimpered, and shook my head gently.  I made soft little wet sounds, high pitched.  

"You remember, don't you?  Little liar," he said affectionately, "you remember doing it...remember liking it."  He laid his palm flat against my stomach and felt the muscles jump.  

"no…"  

"I bet she screamed like a bird.  I bet she was tighter and smaller than anything else you took before--"  

"Please!"  

He rocked out, away from my ear.  

"Because you took animals, didn't you?" he sneered, hands tightening on my shoulders.  "Deer and dogs, and whatever fucked ningen--"  

"No!  You're lying!  Please, just, just…" I tried to move back and then forward, but it wasn't nearly enough.  Tried to twitch, tried to move.  I need him to move.  I was very tired.  And my throat and stomach ached.  But I still needed to come.  His fingers kept on tracing my stomach.  

"You all right boy?"  

He wasn't calling me bitch or brat.  He had better words, now.  His voice was sweet and smooth, soft, without any of the bitter rancor that nearly characterized the resonance.  

"Don't like walking down memory lane?"  

Corny.  Bastard.  Cheap.

I let my head fall and tried to rub up against him, tried to get him to move.  I gasped and tightened as he touched my cock lightly, shyly, still warm and hard.  

"Don't like to remember what you did, don't like to know who you are.  Coward."  

I felt him smirk as he sneered the word softly.  He was smiling.  He was smiling all the time as he whispered little things to me and felt me tremble.  He was smiling gently, slightly, the whole time.  

"The purest heart in the fucking universe…fell so damn _easily_ to his own blood.  His own darkness," he whispered gently, smugly.  

"Waste of Saiyan flesh and bone.  Too vicious to be human, too soft to be Saiyan."  

He sounded objective, nearly compassionate.  "Poor kid, stuck in the middle…sweet innocent little boy-Goku's son-out there raping and _murdering_ his best friend."  

He paused, chuckled, and stroked my erection lazily, like he had all day.  I pushed the wooden box farther away.  I couldn't fight back.  I couldn't breathe.  

He was very thoughtful, really.  He had spent time thinking about this.  Thinking about how to break me down, how to make me hurt.

Was this his revenge?  …but it wasn't my _fault_…

Not that he'd care if I said that.  He'd say it damn well wasn't _his_ fault, so it might as well have been mine; since I hadn't done anything about it.  Since it was my fault I hadn't gone for any help except him, when I should have known that he didn't help anyone or anything.  He would say I should have known better.

But then so should have he.  

"Not even giving her a warriors death.  Alone in the dark, no witnesses, no glory, no courage-" I controlled my heart, and concentrated on the box, on keeping it safe.  I couldn't breathe.  

"No nothing…Now tell me, what kind of 'monster'--" 

…He found my journals.  He knows.  I felt my body stiffen, and heard him leer wider in response…  

"--does that?"

He knew.  He knew everything.  I should have burned them when I had the chance, I should have done it.  He knew.  // _what kind…_ _monster_…//

He knew.  

_My mind, he knew my **mind**…_

My body, against all biology, went cold.  I didn't think he could do it.  Didn't think he could make my body do that.  He kissed the back of my neck mockingly, empty, got out, stood up, and walked over to his clothes.  

I think I'm my worse enemy.  I think I hate myself.  I called out to him.  

"Hey, do you plan to finish what you started, or what?"  

I don't know why I said it.  I wanted to die.  I wanted to end.  I was so tired, of everything.  The buzz had gone out of my body; I didn't need him to do it anymore.  He could have left, and I would have been okay.  But I called him back.  I don't know why I called him back.  It was quiet, suspicious.  A pause.  A lull.

"Why should I?" he asked already against my neck, moving quickly towards me for a guy who didn't want anything to do with me, a guy who hated me.  His voice holding the familiar threat and distrust.  My voice was steady.  

"Because you want to.  Because I need you to."  

He kind of chuckled.  

" 'I want to'?  The only reason I'm _here_, bitch--"

"You came on your own…willfully…"

"You tied me to a fucking _chair_…you call _that_ 'willfully'?"  he was growling.

It had had to be willfully.  It wouldn't have worked if it wasn't.

"You could have gotten free," Gohan said.  I said.  I did.  I said that.  That was Vegeta sniggering derisively.

"How?  Drugged up and tied like I was?  How?  …Talk to me brat, I miss the sound of your voice."  

Irony.  I didn't know what to say.  I had wanted him to talk to me, about us, and I didn't know what to say.  I latched on to what came first.  

"It's your fault.  You didn't tell me when you knew.  You didn't say that you knew what was going on--" 

"It wouldn't have made any difference.  You still would have been out of control.  No _human_," the word dripped, "drug can fix it, nor discipline.  Still would have killed that bitch, looking for Saiyan meat…  And if you hadn't claimed me you would've gone after Trunks, and I wouldn't have allowed that--"  

Trunks was only ten.  

"…Or your father.  Or even your brother.  You would have gone after a Saiyan, and it wouldn't have changed a damn.  You believe in fate, don't you bitch?"  I didn't say anything.  It was all his fault.  It was all his fault.  "But maybe you'd prefer your father's dick instead of mine."  

"Jerk."

"Hn."

It was all my fault.  It was all my fault.  It was always all my fault.  Every time, because I turned Saiyan and couldn't control myself, or I turned human and was too afraid to kill.  No matter what happened, how much time went by or how strong I or anyone else became…Daddy would always have to come to clean up the mess his son couldn't.  Wouldn't.  It was _always_…all my fault.  And I had never bothered to make it any different.  And the one time Dad couldn't help…I lean on Vegeta.  The worst person in the world to pick.  It was always all my fault.  

"I'm sorry," I whispered.  

I felt something in my mind shift, fast, but I don't know why.  

"What?"  

I shook my head, supported on my hands and knees, moisture starting to gather on my lashes.  Whatever.  I was tired.  I didn't want to fight anymore.

"…I'm sorry…everything…" was my fault.  From killing Videl to marking Vegeta to keep him here to do things to me that he didn't want to because I couldn't control myself.  I could never control myself.  It was always my fault.  I started to cry.  Naked, on my hands and knees, right in front of Vegeta I began to cry.  Stupid genes.  Stupid blood.  Stupid Vegeta, stupid me.  I kept crying silently, my chest heaving, head shaking slowly. 

_//it wasn't me.  it wasn't my fault._//  

Vegeta tried to flip me over, and I fought him a little, and I landed on my back hard.  I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side, still trying to hide.  I waited for him to say something, the thing that would hurt and I would end and the pain would stop.  He slapped me hard instead, my head flipped and my cheek burned.  It was still his touch, after all.  I waited for him to say something.  

"You're giving up?"

"Why should I fight?"

"You're Saiyan boy—"

"I don't know what I am, _you_ don't know what I am…how am I supposed to fight against something I don't understand?  Why should I fight…" he was going to kill me for saying that.  Or he'd leave.  Same difference.  "…when I don't want to win?"

He forced my face up and pried my eyes open.  I yelped and struggled, and saw him staring down at me, spiky immaculate hair and perfect skin and dark eyes and his mouth that I loved and he was going to kill me.  I waited for him to say something.  He let go of my chin quickly, and disappeared from my sight.  I closed my eyes.  Naturally, that was my fault too.

"You're such damn child—can't believe I wasted so much effort on a _child_."

"Life's a surprise like that…"

He was leaving.

I couldn't stop him.  I couldn't keep him.  

I wasn't worth his trouble.  I heard him swear.

Warm raspy wetness touched my stomach, and I felt my muscles tighten up all over again.  

What?…

Fingers kneaded into my thighs, and I stumbled and struggled to get propped on one elbow.  A deep growl stopped me, and all my hairs stood on end.  I stopped and laid back, my hands at my sides, staring at the twilight sky, and swallowed.  

I felt skin, the tip of his finger or his chin, trail down my stomach, over my hips, and felt a huff of warm air.  He was touching me with his nose, sniffing me out.  

We experienced heightened awareness during the up-swings of the Heat hormone cycle, our senses even more acute, to the point of painful sensitivity.  

I could smell him from where I was, that Vegeta smell of mesquite and pepper and sharp blood slightly burned and dusky.  I wasn't sure what I smelled like to him, but my scent was muted and buried by his own, only coming through faintly.  

My stomach trembled, even though he was being gentle.  Pain is heightened too, but I was usually too angry to care.  He was never too rough to me when I surrendered; he liked it when I fight back.  

He trailed the hollow of his eyes over my thigh, and I couldn't help squirming and arching my hips just a little when his chin brushed against my cock.  His touch burned, like a stove.  It warmed, but it dried stuff up too, and makes it dead.  And then he-just-holds-it-there.  

I push my head back, clench my teeth, and my toes curl.  I feel vibration, him growling or purring, then that warm wet roughness walking along the inside of my thigh, and fought down the impulse to kick.  

All it need was a touch, all it needed was a little touch and it would go off.  

He kissed the side of me gently, three times, in different spots.  I made a small noise, and he moved up towards the tip.  I scratched the ground and breathed in quick, my body jerking a little because I was trying hard not to.  Crystalline clear blue warmth was lazily swamping all over my body, while he teased and explored the other side of my energy with the tip and flat of his tongue.  

I was prepared for more teasing, but then scalding strong suction just swallowed me down where it was dark and hot and more than a little frightening and I came that quickly.  

Just like that.  

I tried to hold back, I wanted to a little longer, prove that I wasn't the child he thought I was, but he got the jump on me first.  I think I cried out a little bit, but I really wasn't focused on the pleasure.  I guess I was still too tired.  And my kidneys still hurt.  

It felt good, yeah, but…I struggled up to my elbows and looked all around, extended my ki, but I couldn't find him.  He took his clothes after he had done what he wanted, what I needed, and then he left.  Now he was gone, and I couldn't feel him anywhere. 

 Like none of if mattered.  Maybe it didn't.  

He was gone now, somewhere else.

~~~~~~~

Spastic First Person POV

I never understood why you did it.  Really.  I mean---

God I'm sorry.  I hate you more than ever now.

I'd give my arms gladly, feel scalding metal crushing and scraping my ribs to feel you touch my skin again…to see you look at me in that way.  Confident.  Confident of yourself, your actions, your right to do what you wanted and the hell with the consequences.  Confident.  Secure.  …Centered.

So damn different from me.  

I don't---

Always angry.  At everything.  I could always count on that, the sky could turn pink from the blood of innocents, time could turn in on itself, space and love would switch jobs until everything was one creepy nefarious spastic splatter on the universe…everything could be--_absolutely_, completely, totally perfect in the world, and I could always count on you to be angry.  

About something.  About anything.  About nothing.  

Dad came and went, life changed and turned, I was the scrawny nerd one day and lord of the universe the next and you would always be angry.  

That was really annoying.  Really.

But it was predictable too.

…Yeah.

Couldn't you feel I was lying?  You're a god, you're _you_, Ouji-sama, the Saiya-jin no Ouji.  Arrogant and conceited and such a damn bastard without a kingdom or kin.  Strong, proud, always there I could _concentrate_ on you, you could be my center.  Couldn't you tell?

Why did you think I watched you so much?  You went out of your way-maybe once or twice to save me, and I did the same for you.  Didn't you ever wonder why?  

You'd be proud of me, I didn't choose you for some rosy cotton soft emotion.  I chose you, to concentrate on _you_ because you never changed.  The world changed around me, my family changed, _I_ changed.  Even Piccollo-san, as stoic and reliable he is, he changed too.  For the better, for sure, but still.  Still.  

If something happens once it can happen again, once you break the law once it's only _that much easier_ to break it again.  If you break it for good you can break it for bad.  But you can't go back.  You can't go back.  

…Never go back.

Never ever ever, that's it.  Great huh?…

I'm so afraid.  I don't want to lose, please god, don't let me lose it-

No I'm not.

I'm not!

I've always been a neat-freak.  Can't stand chaos.

I must've--

I never saw you.  I tried and lied and said I did and said I had--Never.  Not really.

I think of you at night the most.  I'm always expecting to feel your fingers, demanding, invasive--

Agitating.

Never painful.  You've bruised me, made me bleed, but…It never--You hurt me worse when you let me go.  When you made me go.  I thought I was running.  Escaping.  

…

Shows what the scholar knows, right?

Right?

…

Yeah, something like that.

something…yeah…fuck

…

It hurts so much.

Not then, not there.  When I first left.  Then at night…

I don't--

I kept looking for.  Thought you'd come after me.  Angry and irritable at something.  Kept being braced for your yell, your scorn…I'd recognize your yell of rage anywhere.  Everywhere**.  **I keep my ears pricked all the time.  For your breathing.  I miss your fight, your fire burning warm.

Funny, how we never really interacted before this.  Did we?  I didn't think so.  I mean, I was in my books, whether I wanted to or not, and you were training.  This doesn't feel right.  This doesn't feel wrong.  

Why you?  Why out of everyone, why out of anyone, it had to be you?  Anyone else would have been better, the worst that could have happened was I would've… _hunted_, someone like 18 or Tien or Yamcha or…Kami that's perverse.  Must be _really_ screwed up, to start thinking stuff like that.  Yeah.  Lucky me.  

Still, they would've been better.  Somehow.  Yeah.

…

I'm so afraid.  

I know you'd scorn--maybe you wouldn't.  Maybe.  Maybe not, ne?  I'll never--It doesn't matter now.

I'm fighting myself all the time, I really wish I'd written some of the counter-bites down, I'm sure you would've loved them.

Damn it.

Damn it all.

Damn you.

I don't--

I don't _miss_ you.  There's nothing there to miss!  You're abusive, loud-mouthed and vain-gloriously crass!  …There's a million and one things _wrong_ with you, they're even afraid to let you into _heaven_ the times you've died and you don't even _care_! 

How can you not care?

How do you do that?  How _can_ you do that?

I've never been able to; I don't see why _you_ should.

You didn't even like me.  You didn't--

You didn't, did you?  Did you?

I--

…

…We kept our distances.  We always have, I don't see why that should change now.  You always claimed I was more of a problem than anything else.  You never liked me.

…

…

I think about your smile.  I don't miss it.  I just think about it a lot.  If one could call it a smile, it was really a smirk, a sneer, the frankest visual insult ever devised and perfected, baring your teeth like some animal.  I can't picture--

…You always kept your distance.  No matter how many times you took me… that time I nearly…

…nearly…

You tried to stay away.  You don't know how close we became by doing that.  You told me so much, so much more than I ever asked or you meant to, and I think I told you the same.

I know your favorite color.  I know you started life left-handed, but you forced it away, would rather consciously put yourself through hell than stand out inferior, stand out different.  But the signs are still there, faint.  They don't mar anything, not your grace certainly, but they're the little things that help make it up.  When people pay attention, people learn.  Amazing, isn't it?  You love sugar and avoid it like a plague.  You don't like having fun; it makes you nervous.  You really don't like to train.  You're afraid.  You'd be furious if you knew I knew.  

You're afraid.

I hope your skin squirms.

I think--

Maybe I was wrong to want to understand.  It's more than I thought.  

Being the best.  

Everything has a price. 

You did your own grave.  

When you're the best, you have to _be_ the best.  You can never fail.  You can never fall.  You can never get away with anything.

…You can't let your father die. 

You did your own grave.  

I understand.  

I did the same.

…yeah.

It wasn't my fault.  It wasn't my fault.

I lost--

…

…

I WANT HIM BACK!

i want him back  so much  

i want the _me_ back…what i was…

my life…i want my life…i want it back…

Please don't--I want--I didn't--I wish

i wish i could say your name.  i wish i could forget my pride.  i wish you'd forget your own.

NO!

No, no, it isn't my fault.  I didn't mean it, I didn't know, it was an accident.  It was all an accident.  I didn't know.  I didn't want this.  

I won't fall.  

It wasn't my fault.  No.  

No.

I tried so hard.  I bled so much.

It was never good enough though.  I was never good enough.  

I was never good enough for you.

Bastard.

I hate you.

But I never cared what you thought anyway.  I think I've said as much earlier.  What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.  And I won't let you strike me down, you won't make me fall.  

I've tried so hard.

Choice.

Choice.  

You wouldn't look at me.  I spent days, hours, nights awake and spirit all bent on it, on keeping you away, on keeping our distances.  Making sure you didn't look.  

I pushed myself down, walked up river and held my breath under water in the sea of talk, of bitching, or pain, just to stay away.  Keep away.

Can't you see?  Can't you see?…Can't you even guess?…

…I did it for your attention.  

Your eyes on me.  Your fingers on my cheek.  Don't you get it?

I never liked you.  I think I've listed why.  In detail.

I don't miss you.  You don't miss me.  You don't want to go back.  I don't want me back.  Clean.  Clear.  Contradictory.

I must've--

I don't--

I never--

I--can't.  

I want to.  So much I choke.  

I can't.

…

…Do you…

~~~~~~~~~~

There's no real harm in it.  He is my mate, after all…Mate.  

_This is so stupid!_

He isn't even a full Saiyan!  He's a barely even _half_ Saiyan!  He's just another weak ningen!

…So was she.  That was different.  I chose her.  It was my choice, my decision, and I never did anything so foolish as to try and _mate_ her.  

That's a liability I _don't_ need.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: All Gohan's written words are written in 1st person.  The other entry in the middle with the '*' sign at the top and bottom of it are narrative.  It isn't part of the written journal entry.  It's not.  That's important.

~~~~~~~~~~

Journal Style 3

Date?  What fucking date?

Oh, fuck you.  Fuck you all.

I hate you all.

Really.  So shut up already.

So I'm just a toy that you can wake up and play with and throw back in the shelf when you're done with, am I?  That's it.  That's all really it.  

He takes me when he wants me, when he can't fight it anymore, and it usually leaves me bloody and bruised somewhere, usually my ass.  He's always been distant, always been brutal and cruel, but it never seemed as important then as it does now.  He's hardly ever here, except when he comes for the sex.  Comes and goes, comes and goes…must be my cologne.  Has that effect on people.

I'm still alone.  When I try to find him, either he's hiding or just gets mad at me and screams and attacks.  I've never felt so sorry for my father before in my life.  Whatever.  What a jerk.

I can yell back at him, I can fight him, but only to a degree.  I can sometimes think of things to say, but I can't always say them.  I can barely attack, only defend.  I'm getting tired.  It hurts still.  It ticks me off sometimes too, kind of.

I'm still taking Bulma's pills.  I think he is too.  Heh, wouldn't that be funny?  Some Saiyan pride…jerk.

He doesn't tell me anything.

I don't speak to him much.

I do the cooking, he gets supplies, and that's really the only cooperation we have together outside the bedroom.  He keeps himself busy and far away from me most of the day.  I try to do the same, and not think of him.

Just because he's here doesn't mean he really wants me.  Just because I kiss him back and scream doesn't mean I really want him.  

It just means that this is the best situation we can live with without compromising too much of ourselves.  It's not perfect, but it's still better than before.

I'm worried more about my health than anything else.  

I'm pretty sure my rectum and anus aren't supposed to receive that much attention that brutally.  Going to the bathroom has become a real problem, so I've taken to eating less, that way I won't have to go as much.  This is really embarrassing.  I'm not real hungry anyway.  Just kind of tired.  I sleep and read a lot now.  I'm really worried that one day he's going to break one of my arms or something.  I don't want to see a doctor; I don't want to see anyone.

Kind of wonder what he thinks of all this.  Don't really care.

                        ~%^$&9                      :)                      . 

7*        &                                 "                                               . 

                        ___                                                  0_0      )|(

    ….                                   ~…~

*

A guilty recurring fantasy he hates and consciously brings up every morning is that one-day Goku would arrive and find his son engaged in gay sexual intercourse with his archrival and kill them both.

Goku was the only one that had the best chance of psychologically beating them both, being Gohan's father and Vegeta's rival and unwilling superior; he held a rather high mental position that would be difficult for even Vegeta to overcome.  He was also the only one physically capable of killing them both easily.

In the fantasy, the viewer focuses on the blinding light, on the oblivion that would signify his death.  He could breathe easy for one nano-second before it was over.

Right after the relief and pleasure came terrified guilt, and he would search instantly for his mate's ki.  

He can't really imagine Goku doing that, but that doesn't stop him from fantasizing.  He knows there's something wrong with him.

*

                        :p                     /           !

;D                                           /            ~`~      *

                                      +     /                               J

@@@@@

I dreamed last night that my dream was my real life, my waking life, and that everything was still normal and I was at a park somewhere helping Videl with her homework and our fingers would brush when we passed the pencil and her fingers were cool and smooth.  

Play on words, Shakespeare used a lot of those.  Life is but a dream, and we are all the dreamers.  The things we do define who we are, and we do the things we must.  

@       +  __ +

I don't know who I am.  I don't know what to do.  

I know what I want.  I want to be free, like I was before.  I know what I need.  I need my heart back.  I don't know how to get it.  I don't know where to start.  I want to blame him, but I don't think I can.  I've tried to, and it didn't work.  I've tried to blame myself, and that only goes so far.  I don't know what he wants either.  

He still doesn't want me near him.  And I shouldn't care because that's all right, but I _do_.  Fuck.  I do.  I don't want him near me either.  So why can't--

I had a thought, after the night or day.  I keep on thinking that, hoping really, that Dad will show up someday…somehow he'll make it right.

(

)-

& *96  #

$$$

But I don't think that'll happen.  I wish I knew what he was thinking.  Especially…

~~~~~~~~

A/N:  Yes, Vegeta does talk to himself.  No, Vegeta is not especially insane in this fic.  I talk to myself in my head all the time, and I have some really great arguments, and I don't think I'm particularly insane.  I kinda think everyone does, but maybe they don't always know it.

~~~~~~~

Id vs Ego Style 2

His mate ached.

_Mate._

Fuck.

No, no this couldn't be right.  He was alone.  He was always alone; he relied on that fact like he relied on his pride and blood.  Such faith.  How foolish.  It was too late now.  He said yes.  

A bond born of desperation.  

|| _It's coming._||

_What?_

|| _Soon._||

The brat still feared him.  He feared the brat, but for different reasons.  He had said yes.  Why?  

Back on Namek, the bratling had threatened to kill him, promised pain and vengeance, to protect his friends and idiot father.  Faith.  How foolish.  

Misplaced unwavering loyalty that fueled his bloodlust.  Tribal, feudal duty to the idiot that spawned him and the weaklings who fed him.  Total loyalty for something so small.

It was such a long time ago, back before Freeza.  Such goddamned long time ago that no one cared and he was the only one who remembered.  Fuck.  He felt too old.  He should have died on Namek.  He should have died a long time ago.  He was out of his late teens now, into his prime, by his standards.

|| _Looking for old shadows in this bitch, are we now?_||

_No.  There wasn't enough of it, there's too much human._

The Saiyan aspects of the brat, mainly his hell spun sugar coated anger, made his teeth hurt.  He was the only one who remembered.  Kakkarott didn't understand, and he didn't care.  All off-spring were part human, tainted.  It was over.  He should have died a long time ago.  He felt too old.  He felt alone.

|| _You've become delusional._||

_No.  Why him?_

|| _You weren't forced when you said yes.  Why did you say yes?  You could've just walked out again.  What made that time different?_||

_…he had needed me_

|| _Hah!  You **are** dillusional, you are weak!  He didn't need **you**, he needed your **dick**, he didn't need **you**….  So…why did you say yes?_||

_There was no choice.  There was no alternative.  I couldn't keep living like that._

|| _There's always a choice.  Always.  Quit running.  Why?_||  
  


_…I'm so tired.  I just want to stop……He looks at me like I…I looked at others, that way.  With those eyes.  Frieza.  Father.  Kakkarott…No one's ever looked at me that way before.  Hatred and fear.  Not that.  They couldn't mean it, they didn't have the balls.  Cows.  Goats.  Never to me; not what he's giving.  I'm tired.  I want to stop._

_||He's dying.  Slowly dying until he's just a shell.  The same is happening to you.||_

_Fuck off._

_||Where to?||_

_This place is dead.  I could always leave.  I should leave._

_||It's not the place.  It's what you brought.||_

_…What can be done?_

_||…I don't know.||_

_*_

A guilty recurring fantasy he hates and consciously brings up every morning is that one-day Goku would arrive and find his son engaged in gay sexual intercourse with his archrival and kill them both.

Goku was the only one that had the best chance of psychologically beating them both, being Gohan's father and Vegeta's rival and unwilling superior; he held a rather high mental position that would be difficult for even Vegeta to overcome.  

He was also the only one physically capable of killing them both easily.

In the fantasy, the viewer focuses on the blinding light, on the oblivion that would signify his death.  

He could breathe easy for one nano-second before it was over.

Right after the relief and pleasure came terrified guilt, and he would search instantly for his mate's ki.  

He can't really imagine Goku doing that, but that doesn't stop him from fantasizing.  

*

_…_

_||…||_

_…he hurts.  He won't last this way, something is going to break.  Bloodlust._

_||Fix him.||_

_I did.  I gave him my dick.  I took his blood.  I did what I wanted.  I did what he asked.  Why does it hurt?  Why does it ache?_

_||Heal--||_

_I don't heal.  I can't heal.  I destroy, I kill, I attack, I protect.  I don't heal.  I damage.  I am Saiyan.  I don't heal._

_||…||_

_…_

_||…||_

_I think I'm going to vomit._

_||Fix it.  You can.||_

_No.  I can't.  I can't.  _

_||…Then what happens?||_

_It's up to him.  It's up to him now.  I did what I could, what I wanted--He's too damn human._

_||Stop making excuses!  You **know** what to do; you know how to fix him!  Coward!  Hypocrite!  Quit running and just fucking **give**--||_

_NO! No, like hell am I strip myself like that for that fucking pussy **bitch**!  He doesn't deserve it and there is no way, no goddamned way or reason that is going to make me!  I won't do it!  I am my own, I will not be claimed!_

_||Too late.||_

**_Ever_**_!  The mark means nothing._

_||Your blood says different.||_

_There is no bond.  There is nothing **there**.  I will not be owned.  _

_||…||_

_…ever._

_||…Do you remember how his mouth tasted?||_

_What does that have to do with anything?_

_||It isn't slavery if you get what you want.||_

_I will not be owned.  I will not hurt.  Neither you nor him can make me._

_||Elegant liar, aren't you?||_

_Fuck **you**._

_||No need.  The boy will see to that.  The boy will see to that until you're blind and burning and have screamed up every drop of your essence up to him.||_

_…_

_||It's coming.  Soon.  Relax.  He'll see to it.  And you'll drink it all **up**.||_

~~~~~~~~~~

Journal Style 4

I don't know what I expected.  I had what I thought I needed.  

It's never enough, is it?

He didn't ask for anything, except dominance and his space.  I shouldn't have minded.  When can I stop?  I want to stop.  I've got to stop.  

I had a flash of the future the other night, of what would happen if things were allowed to progress naturally.

I was back home, doing my math homework.  I ate dinner, went up to my room, told Mom goodnight and locked the door.  I did my chemistry homework, then turned the light off.  I jumped out the window, flew halfway to meet him.  

Before daybreak, I came home and showered, then slept, woke up, ate breakfast, then went to school and fell asleep in class.  Wore long-sleeves and collar with pants to hide the bruises and cuts, put on heavy cologne when Dad was home, and watched my grades fall.

Empty.  Just an empty night to keep each other from going crazy.  

Like aspirin for a perennial migraine.  I don't know why he puts up with me.  I wouldn't.  I don't know what to do.  We don't trust each other.  I can't talk, and he won't listen.  He doesn't want-

I can't let him leave.

Drugs: Any substance that are not food and have an effect on the neurotransmitters in the brain, either slowing them down or speeding them up.

Drugs.

I traded one for another.  And I'm bringing him down with me.

I'm so sorry.

~~~~~~~~

Id vs Ego Style 3

|| _How can you be forced?  Once perhaps, but twice?  If it truly bothered you so much, you would kill him._||

_I can't do that._

_||Why?||_

_The bond wouldn't allow it._

_||Have you tried?||_

_It would kill me too._

_||When has that bothered **you**?  You've tried to kill yourself so many times before in the dark just because you were frustrated.  What's one more time?||_

_…_

_||You don't want to hurt him, do you?||_

_That's not it--_

_||You couldn't let Frieza kill him.  He was one of the few that you ever bothered to save twice and more.  He was one of the few you would have chosen for a subject.  Am I right?||_

_…I don't care._

_||It's more than a simple loss to the 'fighting community', more than a simple loss of half-Saiyan blood.  You owe your life to that boy, that child.  And he owes you.||_

_…I don't like him.  He doesn't like me.  He didn't even really choose me; I was just a contingency choice.  A second-hand choice.  He didn't really want me.  I really hate him.  I really want to kill him.  But I can't, because I don't want to die._

_||Why don't you want to die?  What makes your life valuable now?||_

_…I've gotten stronger--_

_||Bull crap.  So has everyone else.||_

_I still surpass them.  _

_||You always did.  That really didn't change.  What changed to make you want to live?  Why now?||_

_…Maybe you're right for once.  Suicide does seem to be the best way out.  It wouldn't be new, and there wouldn't be many consequences.  It's the easiest.  It's probably the best._

_||Why do you think he chose you?||_

_He didn't choose me.  He got mad at me._

_||Strong as he was, as high-strung as was, wouldn't it have been simpler for him to kill you?||_

_He's still too cowardly to do anything like that._

_||It takes courage to mark.  He was working on instinct--||_

_He didn't choose me._

_||--and he **had** to know, deep down that you could have rejected him--||_

_He didn't want me!  It was a fluke!  It was a goddamned fluke!_

_||You could have rejected him!  He knew that!  He nearly killed you, it would have been easier to kill you--||_

_His blood was talking to him.  He didn't want me.  He just wanted something strong._

_||…You're being stupid.  You can destroy him.  You can destroy him easily now, more than ever.  If you leave again he **will** kill himself or he'll go after you and will kill himself **then** when you reject him again.  Rejection means you're not good enough.  It means you were stupid and weak--||_

_The boy isn't stupid or weak._

_||--and you don't deserve to live.  He would follow it, he follows his blood.   He's always followed his blood, human as he is.  You can kill him.||_

_…It would be easy.  It's very tempting, the little bastard._

_||Yes, it would.  Yes, it is tempting, and so damn easy.  Through his mind: Enter his mind through the bond because you know how, you have the training and he doesn't, and you can tear his mind apart.  That would kill him so badly he'd be lucky if he made it to the next dimension.  He might not even be able to do **that**; he might just cease to exist.  You might even be able to cut the bond from his mind, cut yourself free.||  _

_…_

_||…You could do it easily.||_

_……yes._

_||You would be free again.  You would destroy him in the process, but then he deserved it.  He earned it.  That would be the price of mis-claiming a Saiyan Prince.  It might hurt you too, might kill you too, but then again it might not.  There's a good chance it won't.  It might not even be the first time; it probably won't be with the amount of idiots out there.  It's a risk, but that's what you do.  You destroy, you hurt, you burn, you hate.  And you kill.  Here's the perfect opportunity.  Here's the perfect chance.  Here's your programming, your life, and you can keep on following it the way you always wanted to.  You can't really be held, not against your will.  There's a choice.  There's always a choice.  You said yes.||_

_No._

_||You said yes to him, you took him, you rode him hard and you rejoiced in it, in the feel of his body and his sweat and it hurt you to see him cry.  But you didn't want to care.  You didn't stop.  It hurt you but you didn't stop.||_

_No…_

_||You can stop now.  You wanted to stop; well now you can.  You can stop.  You can break him down and destroy him completely for daring to try and claim you, you can go on free like you always wanted and there isn't a damn anyone can do to stop you.||_

_…_

_||You know the boy won't try.  If you try to kill him, he'll let you.  He'll fight you too, he'll fight to live, but he'll let you kill him in the end.||_

_…_

_||…||_

_…He's not immortal._

_||No.  And he will die.  He will end.  Like he has before and that'll be it.  There won't even be a thing except an old scar and some memories to fuck up with your life anymore, because your life is so damn good and great that you can't stand to let anything try and change that.  Because change means planets burning and exploding and families dying, and you don't know where you're going next.  He can kill you, but he won't.  He doesn't have the heart--actually, he **has** the heart and it won't let him.  He doesn't want to.  He can but he doesn't want to.  If you want to be free it will mean his death, by your hand or not, if you want to be free and reject him he will die.  But you can be free.  You do have a choice.||_

_…_

_|| It's meant to be consensual—planned-- marking, but it wasn't.  There isn't anything you can do about it now.  Maybe you weren't willing.  But you do have a choice now.  It's hard, but it's there.  You have a choice now and he doesn't, because his choice was in the beginning and it was you.  He wanted you.  He went to you, in heat, in trust that you would help him.  In trust that you wouldn't hurt him more than he was already being hurt.  He probably didn't understand it then, probably doesn't know why he felt safe with you and not his father, not the Namek, he felt safe with **you**.  Maybe he didn't choose you to be his mate at the start, but he did choose you to be his confidante, his friend, his guide, and from there maybe he realized that you could be more.  Realized that you could fill what was wrong with him.||_

_He didn't mean it._

_||He did mean it.  He didn't know what was going on, but he did mean to claim you.  He did want you.||_

_I don't want him._

_||Then why did you claim him?  Why did you fuck him, instead of just leaving with your contempt and pride?  Because of hormones?  Because of simple hormones?||_

_…yes…_

_||FUCKER!  **LIAR**!  If that were true you could've fucked anybody else!  You could've fucked the woman, Bulma because she wanted you to, as it was you wouldn't even **touch** her while she was caring for your lame-ass **carcass** because you were thinking of **him**, of his skin under your fingers, his eyes looking at you…You kept on thinking about him.  Why?  Now why, tell me that, because I've told you why he claimed you.  Because he felt safe with you, because he desired you.  Now you tell me why you claimed him.  Why did you want him?  What did you see?||_

_…_

_||Answer me.||_

_…I answer to no one.  You can't demand a thing of me.  I am my own._

_||You'll answer to me now.  Because you are a warrior, and a warrior fears nothing, neither truth nor lies.||_

_Foolish psychology.  I'm not stupid enough to fall for a trap that pathetic._

_||It's not a trap.  It's a test.  It's a fight.  Either get in or get out, either kill him or join with him, but don't you dare linger in the doorway.||_

_I don't love him.  I don't love anybody; I don't believe in love. I don't even like him._

_||I'm not asking you to.  I'm asking you to accept him, to join with him, because you'll kill him if you keep on this way.  You'll kill him on accident, because you're too afraid to attack directly.  So…what will you do?||  _

_…Why should I join with him?  Simply because he **might** be loyal to me, simply because he's too weak to openly oppose me, simply because it'll make him feel better?  Do you really think I should reduce myself, sell myself so short, so much of what I am and what I do for such a small return?  _

||_I think you know_.||

_How far down do you think I'll sink?  Even I don't know that, I've never claimed to.  I might go down to the very cellars of hell before this June.  I might kill him, maybe even without meaning to.  You're right.  I do kill.  I do destroy.  That's what I do.  I've never known how to do anything else.  I don't want to kill him.  If I join with him I'll hurt him and kill him because that's what I do.  If I leave he'll die on accident._

_||You're avoiding the point.||_

_I don't want to kill him._

_||You're afraid or yourself.||_

_I'm not afraid of anything.  I don't want to kill him.  I also have no reason to like him.  _

_||I think you do.  And you're already killing him by not doing anything.  Tell me, tell yourself, why does this boy draw you?  What do you want from him?  Something.  Anything.||  _

_…nothing.  I am my own._

_||It doesn't have to be deep or soul searching, but it does have to be true.  Why don't you want to hurt him?||_

_…no reason…_

_||…||_

_…_

_||…||_

_…he did…trust me…with his heart.  Not because I was the best for it, or because there wasn't anyone else…because he did…want me…and…_

_||…||_

_…he has what I want.  He gives his father…I could…his tasted like…he's weak, inside his head.  Inside his mind and heart.  But he doesn't let it stop him.  His power is great, but he's afraid of it.  I wouldn't be.  He's everything I'm not.  He has a home.  He doesn't have a title.  He's never had to bear one.  He's not afraid of me now; he was afraid before.  He's…_

_||…||_

_…kind.  It's…genetic, I think, disgusting, but…he's not perfect…I can feel his demons, see his nightmares when he sleeps now.  He needs me so much, so much of me, and I don't want to give it to him. Clingy little brat.   I am my own.  I've always been my own.  He would eat me.  Why would he want me?  Why me?_

_||…||_

_…he cries when I leave him in bed.  He cries when I leave him here, alone, to train.  He's started playing with knives.  Nothing big, nothing dangerous, but it hasn't been long…Why me?_

_||…||_

_…there's potential there.  There's hope.  I don't trust it; it doesn't seem right.  Too many questions.  Why would he pick me?  I wouldn't pick me…  You can cry your life out, through your eyes, if you do it often enough.  I've seen it.  I think he is._

_||…||_

_…I do want him.  I like the way he thinks.  I like the way he looks.  I like the way he touches me when he's sleeping and he doesn't know it and he smiles just a little…I like the way he endures everything, the belittling, the books, the harpy, the responsibility of the power he holds…His life is what mine might have been, if things had been fine.  His responsibility should have been mine.  He's subservient to me.  He'll never hurt me.  _

_||…||_

_He's so stupid…It's ridiculous.  It's unnatural.  Innocence doesn't belong in this world—it's not natural.  It hasn't been beaten out of him yet.  I want to protect that…His life runs so closely to what mine could have been…what it was…he could be me.  He could be me easily, and I could be his captor, his tyrant, if I wanted.  Easily.  I don't want to.  I don't want to hurt him.  I want to protect him.  I'm afraid for him.  I hate feeling this way.  _

_||…||_

_I want to feel him._

_||Do you trust him?||_

_What?_

_||Do you trust him?  Do believe in his strength, in his endurance?  Do you believe it's enough to successfully ward you off?||  _

_I don't know.  Perhaps._

_||…Perhaps you should find out.||_

_…why?_

_||So you can feel him.  And he can feel you.||_

_What if it's not enough?  What if he's not strong enough?  I could kill him; I could destroy him without meaning.  He's not weak…he gave me that power.  What a little fool…_

_||It's a risk.  You'll have to trust.  At the last, you can fight yourself.  You can control yourself.  You've gotten better at it, and you're smarter than you were before.  You're heart has mellowed.  You don't want to be dark anymore, and you aren't.  Not as much as you were.  You can change.  Things can change here; the rare things can last on this world, it doesn't have to be destroyed.||_

_…still…_

_||You are yourself.  You are your own.  You are as you should be.||_

_…he tastes wonderful._

_||Take the chance.  Take the chance.||_  

_…but…_

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I'm finishing the ficcy!  Next chappie the last!  I'm finishing the ficcy!  Yes!  It's been hanging around and hanging around and now I'm finishing it!  Yay!  …not very action-packed, was it?  More psychological…


	13. Giving Up

Main Entry: **em·pa·thy**   
Pronunciation: 'em-p&-thE  
Function: _noun_  
Etymology: Greek _empatheia, _literally, passion, from _empathEs _emotional, from _em- + pathos _feelings, emotion -- more at PATHOS  
Date: 1904  
**1** **:** the imaginative projection of a subjective state into an object so that the object appears to be infused with it  
**2** **:** the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner; _also_ **:** the capacity for this 

~~~~~~

Narrative Style

Gohan approached the bed carefully.  

Vegeta's eyes questioned him, grilled him, but he didn't answer.  Not even out of fear.  He still didn't meet his eyes, but crawled up, of his own will to hurriedly press his mouth to the one under him, his eyes closed.  

There was no response, but then he hadn't been expecting one.  Hoping perhaps, but not expecting.  

He moved his lips softly, lightly, gripping the lips beneath him with his own and pulling them until they slipped out, never using his teeth or his tongue in the play.  

Never opening his eyes.  Neither said anything.  

He moved his way down slowly, guiding himself with memory and touch, never looking, never speeding up.  

He left a careless track down the solid neck, missing the mark completely, finally using his tongue to carelessly re-map the collarbone, the amusing himself with the left nipple.  He traced the crossing byways of the abdomen, nibbling gently with his teeth where he could find purchase.

His blood hummed sluggishly in his head and fingers, calling and twitching half-heartedly.  His temperature was a little high.  Not much, but still a little high.

He nudged his nose against the stomach, rubbed his cheek against the skin, and glided his lips like an African breeze, a sirocco, along the hemline of his jeans.  He lifted his head, but not his face.  

Waiting.  

_//your turn.  move or pass.  make your choice._// 

There was no movement.  No encouragement, but no resistance either.  

From a man who always told the world what crap he thought it was…and there was nothing he said to him.  Not to go on or to go away—absolutely nothing.  

Gohan unbuttoned the pants, unzipped them, pulled them off and got to work.

He knew what to do.  Vegeta had taught him how, had forced him later on although he hadn't had to force Gohan very hard before the smell had taken him in and over, and he had done it because it was what he did.  He knew what to do.  Vegeta had done it to him himself in the first few new hours that they were together, on the 7th day.  

And he had enjoyed too; had been marvelously, incredibly ashamed and embarrassed but he had enjoyed it.  

He hadn't wanted to, just as he could tell from the light, punishing scores of Vegeta's teeth against his sensitized skin that Vegeta hadn't much wanted him to enjoy it either.  

It was a thing that people like Vegeta did during sex.  That was it.  Just a thing people did.

He spit the ejaculation out onto the bed sheets, coughing slightly then spitting out more, sitting back his heels.

He didn't know why he was doing this.  He was terrified.  But he was tired too.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slowly sat up on his heels.  

When Vegeta came around he saw the crouched bangs, the patience emanating from his respectful and nonchalant posture.  

_//…that's not for you.  …for me.  i'm still … … adapt... …  yeah, right.  like a million … ago.  think i've adapted pretty goddamned well.  still won't … a sound, but he's a bastard anyway.//_

Vegeta doubted he was meant to hear that.  

It pissed him off, not that Gohan was angry because he knew that already, but that he was angry and that he was trying to hide it.  It was so fucking human.  Sure wasn't Saiyan.  But he was too tired to really make an issue of it now.  

_//damn it.  fuck…this isn't right…//_

Apparently his bitch still had trouble accepting that he was male too and that he was Vegeta.  Vaguely typical.  Typical.  And not likely to change soon, so…move on with it.  Right?  

Gohan put one hand to the side of Vegeta's torso, leant his weight on it, shifted position so that he was balanced on his knees, and began moving up towards him.

Apparently the boy's and his own mental structures and been worn away like sandpaper by so much time together and their own failing mental walls.  They had spent so much energy into erecting boundaries between them, that they didn't have enough energy to maintain them.  

Everything was falling apart.

_//… shouldn't have to do this.//_

Gohan moved toward him slowly on his hands and knees, his face and eyes still shadowed, his breathing quiet if a little erratic.  Gohan put his hand next to Vegeta's shoulder, brought the other one up to rest on bed next to his other arm.  He still avoided touching him.  

_//… sorry.  i'm so …  i don't want it to be this way.  not…like **this-**-//_

Vegeta's eyes opened a little wider.  Gohan's head dipped down to kiss him.  Again without looking at him.  

Vegeta's hand pushed his shoulder down, enough to keep their lips from moving.  Gohan paused for a second, before moving to lower his head down to Vegeta's chest.  Again, Vegeta held him, and this time pulled Gohan's head up by his hair, trying not to hurt him, but equally allowing no chance for leeway.  

He waited until he could see his eyes.  Feelings tumbled out and around in his mind. 

Old anger.  Fatigue.  Shame.  Defeat.  Frustration.  Desire.  

_//why him?  why, of all people, **him**?//_  

_||Do you really find me that repulsive?||_

Gohan inhaled sharply like he'd been hit.

_//**no**!  no…how--//_

_||Then why do you hate me so?||_

Gohan's chest heaved.  They could talk through their minds.  They could actually talk through their _minds_.

_//not…//_

Vegeta actually looked--

//…_vulnerable.//_

Vegeta blinked.

_//i want you.  you won't let me.  you don't…//_

Gohan glared, dark, roiling anger coating his thoughts with scorn.  

_//you don't want **me**.//_

Vegeta said nothing.  Vegeta did nothing.  Gohan could lightly hear him turning the sentiment over in his mind.  

_||Liar_.||  

The hand pulling his hair relaxed, brushing through the strands to cup the skull.  Pulling him closer and this time Gohan resisted.  Deep baritone like lead falling to the bottom of the ocean echoed through his mind.

_||Eyes open.  Not instinct, not anger, not grief.  Eyes open.  See what you're getting into.  See who you're with.  See what you are, and see what I am._|| 

Gohan didn't move.  

_||Make your choice.||_

Gohan blinked.  Choice?  What choice had he had in this?  What-real decision, clear open decision totally uninfluenced and conscious, had there been?  

_||There's always choice stupid.  Not the one you want.  Not the one you need.  But there's always a choice.  Eyes open.||_

A mouth ghosted over his.

_||I've… chosen.||_

His temperature shot up in accordance to Vegeta's touch automatically, unavoidably and he opened his mouth even while Vegeta pulled away to lay his head back down.  What choice did he have?  What real choice was there?  

_//he said he'd stay with me.//_

If Gohan said no, then it would be back to the drugs and crappy life he had before.  If he said yes, then what would be different from how he was whoring himself to his instincts now, and dragging Vegeta further along with him?  

_//he marked me.//_

Why would Vegeta help?  How much longer before he cut off interest completely?  What would Gohan do then?  The hell with choosing, Vegeta had already said he didn't **ever** want him close.  What was there to choose?  

Fingers shifted (flinched?) in the hair at the nape of his neck.

_//he wants me//_

Gohan closed his eyes, relaxed, and opened his mind.  

_|\Choose.||_

He studied the eyes stared up at him calmly, even nonchalant.  He could feel the tumult in Vegeta's mind through the half-opened bond, could feel it, but couldn't see or hear it.  He blinked suddenly; the thrice-damned genetic honesty laving his face thoroughly-licked his lips suddenly and ducked his head half-way to Vegeta's before stopping in a rush, blinking rapidly--

_//was that too fast?  too fast too eager he'll think i'm lying//_

_//imean why's he doing this?  why now?  i mean he never…//_

_//…but…i's nice…so nice…want you…//_

--breathing deep suddenly while Vegeta just stared up at him.  

The man who had tried to kill him so many times.  The man who had tried to kill his _father_ so many times.  That man that had sneered that Gohan was only good for cleaning his boots, that was why he had saved him, while he intentionally patted his head in that irritating and demeaning manner like he was some damn _pet_.  

The man who wasn't always the strongest, rarely the hero, and didn't give a fuck about anything much.  The man who was the exact opposite of everything he wanted to be.  The man with eyes like the depths of space and pain.  Alone.  In pain.  Strong.  

The man who was completely, wholly, free.  The man who had paid the price for that freedom.  

The man that wasn't afraid of anything.  

Vegeta's fingers were curled so tightly in his hair with fear that he was beginning to pull the strands out.  

Gohan swallowed hard, opened his mouth nervously, worked it around, and then closed it.  He leaned himself slowly, eyes never leaving Vegeta's except once or twice to glance at his lips and make sure he was going in the right direction, his cheeks twitching with the sheer amount of nerves he was feeling.

_//too slow too hesitant too eager too afraid too superficial too meaningful//_

He licked his very dry lips and forgot to breathe, because his whole mind was trying to remember how to kiss well.  And was, regrettably, coming up empty.  For the life of him, Gohan couldn't remember how to kiss well.

_//the smallest wrong move.  **bam**.  end game.  elow then.//_

Their lips touched, Gohan's bottom lips snapping feebly at Vegeta's, Vegeta's lips still and quiet yet yielding and trembling slightly, keeping Gohan's eyes with only minimally more control than Gohan was.  

Kissing with open eyes.  Big taboo, very rude, far too intimate and suspicious.  No tongue, no teeth.  Working with the bare essentials, the test to see if one was skilled by taking the flair away.  

Fear stronger in the room than ever, gassing it and killing it, because it was completely fueled and interwoven with open desire.

Rejection.  

It wouldn't sever the bond, but it might kill them.  Lying wouldn't fix anything; up until now they had both been lying and looking away.  

Gohan pulled away slightly and cupped Vegeta's head and neck in his hands.  Black into black.  Darkness introverted and turned in on itself; looking into a mirror to see what he saw when he looked at you.  

It was Vegeta that the mirror surprised.

He had been expecting anger.  He had been expecting fear.  He found admiration in abundance.  He found thin, hard loyalty.  He found dense, convoluted and twisted quiet jealously and envy and irrational dislike.  In other words, he found hopeless desire.  

Gohan blinked.  

Wonder.

Ache.

Shift.  

Still holding Vegeta's gaze, he lowered down to kiss his lips tenderly, openly, pressing deeper though not harder when Vegeta's lips opened slowly to him.  Vegeta blinked quickly, finding it harder to hold the gaze, his hands roaming in spurts along Gohan's back. 

His entire body was throbbing, even his toenails swelling and deflating with his pulse in magenta and black flashes, his bond mark and erection in particular, every place where Gohan touched him exploding in brilliant and burning amber flashes.  

Fuck.  He was so damned fucked.  

He moved his lips carefully against Gohan's, turning his head a bit to get a better angle, fighting with everything the impulse to just grab him and swallow him whole until he choked.

They could feel the touches burn, could smell the arousal genuine in the air, could mentally tell how much they were affected by everything.  It would have been so damn easy to break eye-contact, and it was so damn weird to hold it.  But they did; for reasons neither understood, they did, while fingers warily roamed and touched and muscles slowly relaxed against each other.

Gohan's fingers trailed down to his thighs and lower, and Vegeta moved his mouth and bent one knee to the side, his hands pressing down on Gohan's back.  Gohan tilted his head to deepen the kiss, find a new angle, his eyes still burning into Vegeta's, fingers probing at his entrance.  

Vegeta arched his neck on invasion, his eyes screwing shut and his head tilted to the side.  

_||Oh god no.||_

_||Shit!  Shit!  …damn it all!||_  

Even as a second finger was inserted, Gohan was pulling his face to meet his and to open his eyes.  

Vegeta reacted first with panic, one hand automatically coming to wrap around the younger's neck infused with ki.  He was going to die.  He was going to be hurt.  He was going to stop being him.

_//eyes open//_

He waited until Vegeta opened his eyes and could look at him lucidly.  Waited until Vegeta understood what was going on, even if his body was boiling and throbbing and the sounds of Vegeta's gasps of panic was nearly enough to make him scream.  This was too important to be ignored or short-changed or fabricated even in the least.  

Air made _hiffhh_ sounds as it shuffled up and down Vegeta's windpipe, moving in short, watchful intervals, ready at any moment to scream or kill.  Vegeta's hands dug into Gohan's shoulders, and his eyes were burning.  He didn't wiggle or squirm.  If he wanted to get out, he would do so.  

Gohan kept his gaze.  He was still very nervous, hormones still ramming through his nerves, and he was shaking.  His lips kept tingling with Vegeta's words running through his mind.

Any minute now…

He touched his hips gently, looking for the slightest indication that he shouldn't, and moved Vegeta's legs up and to the side slowly.  Vegeta was smaller than him; Vegeta was so much smaller than him.  Not weaker, but still…he was so much more smaller.  It inspired some grudging dangerous tenderness, that small stature.

He kissed Vegeta's lips lightly, got ready, then pushed in.

Vegeta's hand was still wrapped around his neck when he entered him, warningly, threatening his life, surveying Gohan's ki to make sure it never went too high, beyond what he could control.  

Vegeta hissed between his teeth and arched his neck, even while his hand shifted to crush Gohan's shoulder instead of his neck.  

Fingers drove into his arms like iron nails, and Gohan watched the small shivers escape the iron smelted control, watched the pulse jump in his neck and his breathing suffer.  Besides the small hisses and rugged breathing, Vegeta didn't make a sound.  Vegeta didn't make a sound and he didn't break eye-contact, though he did blink twice.

Gohan pulled out half-way achingly slow, his cock brushing against every fiber and cilia in that part of Vegeta's body, before swallowingly pushing back in.  

Whatever mask of confidence and calm Vegeta had been using was gone, and the intensity of vulnerability and fear in his face was nicely complemented by the bruised and bleeding marks under his fingers on Gohan's shoulder and arm, the rigid tension his innards were in.  

He was completely defenseless, not only physically where he had been broken and crushed before, but at the core.  A single word, a single, small gesture or flippant thought and he was over.  He was gone.  Without his pride he was _nothing_.  And now, that could be taken.  He had allowed it so.  

||_Shit_.||

So Gohan moved slowly.  

He didn't bother to offer comfort or assurance, knowing that sympathy would be pity and pity would be the deathblow.  He gave him time.  He couldn't offer comfort.  He couldn't encourage trust.  So he just gave him time.  Time, and freedom.  

Vegeta would see to the rest, Gohan trusted. 

He went slow, and shallow.  

By degrees, Vegeta relaxed, the fear and suspicion not completely gone but no longer in control.  Gohan did not speed up, but did deepen the thrusts, his breaths coming a little faster, his hands sweating on Vegeta's hip and shoulder, minute tremors going through him, and his mouth slightly open and trembling.  The slow, shallow thrusts were having the same effect on Vegeta's throbbing body now that he had relaxed and decided he was more or less safe for the moment.  Gingerly, he blinked rapidly, took a breath, and wrapped his thighs around Gohan's waist and knees over his back just as he was withdrawing and yanked him back hard.

Gohan gasped and opened his eyes wide, just as Vegeta arched his neck and screamed.  

And then Gohan lost control.  

He pounded Vegeta into the mattress, his ki gathered around him in blankets, grunts and growls coming from him even as Vegeta's fingers clawed the skin from his back and grunted and groaned, clinging to his back desperately, but still moving in rhythm to the thrusts as well as his body could.  

Perhaps in the heat of the moment, Gohan's mouth covered his, tongue rubbing roughly against Vegeta's.  Vegeta's hand gripped his hair to yank him away to press his mouth against his neck.  Press his teeth against the mark.  Latching on to it with teeth and tongue made Vegeta scream like a dying light, like a supernova, and made him buck his hips so hard against Gohan's that he lost beat for a second before finding it again.  

Pleasure at the feel of Vegeta and Vegeta's voice and Vegeta's scent _everywhere_ and Vegeta's enthusiasm and there was Vegeta's blood right _under his teeth_.

The bite-mark, the reclaiming bite-mark, was shallow because of a jerk in motion that had changed the angle, Vegeta's voiceless scream of empty lungs and splurging orgasm and head-on _deep_ bite was what caused Gohan's own orgasm.  

He froze, shuddered, and cried gently before rocking his body a little more, Vegeta's thighs absently caressing his hips, his hands slowly rubbing Gohan's back, stained with blood.  His breathing still came out shaky, but it was longer, and a little deeper.  

Gohan settled down in small, gentle jerks on top of him, his face buried next to Vegeta's neck.  Over the sound of his own breath and blood, Vegeta could hear Gohan's own breath, and could hear him crying softly.  

Hungry little kisses rained down his neck, and Vegeta brought his hand up to caress his hair, heard something choke, and felt Gohan move up to kiss his lips hungrily, tenderly, carefully trying not to hurt him anymore.  A tongue ventured into his mouth, petting gently, stroking everywhere, rubbing reassuringly against his lips.

Through the haze of his own mind, Vegeta tried to focus on kissing back, failing.  Gohan's tongue started kissing under his jaw, swearing, asking for forgiveness, asking for pardon, and yet still demanding more as his mouth went further down to the joint of his jaw and licking up to his eyes and forehead, licking up every drop of sweat he could find.

Gohan's body relaxed and melted down into his own, small shy tendrils of his mind stumbling through the bond requesting information of Vegeta's health, his state of mind, his emotions, yet never stumbling in too far or getting the information themselves, respecting Vegeta's privacy.

Yet even his finger tips, the small sounds of his breathing, and especially the small mental messengers he was sending all said the same thing: Elation.  Elation all through him.  

Gohan returned to kiss Vegeta's lips into life, into action, 

~~~~~~~

I'm sorry I'm so sorry I never meant to hurt you I didn't I was trying _not_ to and--

Gohan.

Yes?

…Again.

…Vegeta you're bleeding.  

I know.  Do it again.  

…Are you sure?

Yes.  Again.

…All right.

~~~~~~

Slow, this time.  Gentle.  Just starting with light little kisses along the edge of his jaw, licking and kissing apologetically at the bloodied spot on his neck, going softer when Vegeta gasped and dug his fingers into his back, arching his body up towards Gohan and inclining his head to give him more access.  

_||…feels…fuck…||_

It felt like reroasting burnt cinders, little jolts of electricity impaling and stabbing his limp and weary nerves straight through the meaty core.

||_Not bad boy.  Not bad at all…||_

~~~~~

Gohan Breathes:

He woke with a start only once that night, scratchy black fear flapping in his head.  

There was a weight on his chest, and an arm clutched his abdomen.  

He breathed out again.  

Wincing, his face twisting into a grimace, he lifted his head enough to move his arm out from under it, twisting the bloodless and deoxygenated muscles into bringing the limb to cover the weight on his chest.  

Before he drifted off to sleep again, he felt the arm lift from his stomach, lay across his own, and squeezed gently.  His own hand squeezed the shoulder it cupped weakly.  The hand returned to grip his stomach again.  

He drifted back to sleep.

Vegeta Breathes:

He woke up later curled on top of his mate, his eyes, able to see clearly even through the darkness.  

He lifted himself up to his elbows, watching his mate's face fade into a frown, fingers digging weakly into his back.  Slight hints of a frown flitted over his face, and he didn't lower himself back down to the bed.  Cuddling wasn't his style. 

And yet--he hadn't felt this… _calm_, in a very long time.  A very long time.  

There came a point in time when…fighting was just too much of a pain in the neck to really pursue.  When it just wasn't worth it.  He had a hard time admitting that, but he wasn't stupid.  When it wasn't worth fighting for, when it would be too painful to win and impossible to lose, it was better just to stop.  So he did.  Vegeta had always been intelligent and stubborn; a strange combination.

He leaned down the distance, and nibbled the lips that were full and chubby like a human's, and hid animal teeth.  

His tongue pried the teeth apart with effort, lazily imprinting the roof of the mouth with the flat of his tongue, idly tracing the molars before impatiently pushing the muscle slumbering at the bottom to life.  He lifted his head, staring into the blinking half-opened eyes, before getting off the bed and walking around it; vaguely surprised to see his mate was already hurrying to follow him.  

Jerking, urgent, and weak movements saw feet to the floor, and the rest of him would have crashed on to it if his hands hadn't caught shoulders.  

Breathing was ragged and heavy, head hanging into his chest.  He was completely beaten up, ugly purple marks and fingertips coating his wrists and arms and hips, blood crusted on his neck and dribbled down on his chest, multiple angry fingernail and bite marks on his shoulders.  He had done that, had inflicted those wounds.

Yet he was still trying to follow, weakly.  

Foolish, foolish loyalty.  So stupid, yet rather endearing in it's own way.  

His own body had also been beaten up, but to a much lesser degree, and healed faster.

His hands pushed the shoulders back, his head ducking to languidly kiss his lips and take his mouth that still tasted of sweat and blood and seed.  

The body under his hands relaxed and splashed back onto the bed, fingertips nearly tickling his sides, a wave of relief and that constant elation washing through his mind.  He lifted his head, staring into eyes that hid nothing, were tired and worn yet infinitely relieved.  

Adoring.  

A needle of fear prickled his cerebellum.  

Absolute adoration.  Absolute loyalty.

He lightly kissed the brow, got up, felt a shower of panic and sent his own blanket of comfort and assurances along the bond.  He didn't need to turn around to know that eyes were glued to his back, and as he walked down the hall to the shower, didn't need to open the bond to know that ears and ki were locked onto his every movement.

He took his time in the shower, rubbing the blood and sweat and other bodily fluids off with hot water and soap, doing some areas twice depending on the damage to them.  He scrubbed his hair, scrubbed his scalp, and had tried to let the water rinse out all the cuts that covered his back and shoulders were he couldn't reach them with his hands.

After he was completely cleaned, he turned off the water and dried himself off with a slow controlled waves of his ki, then powered down and walked out of the room, across the room, and got a pair of sweat pants out of the closet there.

He went back to the bathroom, and collected some items.  

He went back to the bedroom, and was unsurprised that the body lying on the bed hadn't moved, and eyes hadn't closed.

He was watched blearily as he opened the towel on the floor, and laid the bowl of warm water and alcohol next to it.

Soft purring flopped around in his ears as he picked up the body around the shoulders and under his knees, and laid him on top of the towel. 

"Let's get you cleaned up before you catch something."

~~~~~~~~

It was one of the things that stood the boy out from other lovers he had known.  The woman had been fascinating, blatant with her flattery (which he had eaten up), and absently caring and cheerful.  And remarkably unbending.  

He still enjoyed her, after her fashion.  But she never worshipped him.  She had her pride too; her ideas that this was his role, to worship her, not the other way around.  Some human custom, apparently.  He hadn't felt her worth it.  

He had never conceived that he needed it.  

That sort of absolute honesty was new to him, though he knew it was birthright as the prince of the species.  But…it wasn't his birthright that was the cause of that admiration, that loyalty.  It was just him.  It was…

Mildly disturbing.  But it was a nice-disturbing feeling, after it's fashion.

It felt better not to fight.

*

Callused, gentle hands ironed and kneaded the muscles in Vegeta's shoulders and neck by number, each one meticulously learned, massaged, relaxed, and then allowed to rest.  The spaces between his vertebrae pressed and explored, the base of his skull gently, nearly teasingly rubbed.  

Slowly, strong, slightly chilled hands made their way down the sensitive area between his shoulder blades, tickled the muscles and bones that had been numbed and nulled out of existence.  

Old scars, healed muscles and bones that still ached along the break on very cold days were touched, briefly warmed, and soothed.   It was certainly the most sensual, non-sexual act he had ever been in.  The pressure and warmth along his vertebrae, tail scar, buttocks almost always gave him half an arousal.  

And his mate's touch still burned, still stimulated, though, it was now tempered with time and something else.  

*

Of the few times he'd been massaged by the boy, he'd fallen asleep twice and hadn't woken up until late morning.  The last time he'd fought against sleeping and had to settle for drifting in and out of dozing and lethargy, determined not to fall asleep until it was over.  He didn't like relinquishing control, but it was still a frustrating pain to fight against.

The sessions always made him terribly defenseless and excruciatingly open.  He fell asleep completely, into a sleep so deep and absolute that he didn't dream, didn't listen for footsteps or even track his mate.  

He was gone.  

He was just completely gone.  

And it wasn't like the exhaustion, the closest synonym he could find, that followed intense fighting or sex.  He wasn't tired.  He was just _gone_.  He hated being that open, that defenseless.  He hated it with a passion.

There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.  He had tried to fight, tried to resist the hands could suck the strength from his body with just a simple touch the same way that they could make him burn and writhe and scream.  Nothing seductive or divine about it, just the simple and honest touch of his mate.  Crude.  He fell under them every time.  

Resistance only made him anticipate which made him think and remember which made him yearn.  

He kept on trying harder to fight and falling easier each time.  His ass, his chest, and his cock had always been given due consideration by lovers before, but his…elbows?  His toes?  The small of his back?  

…Worshipped.  He was absolutely worshipped and conquered.  He had tried swearing at the boy.  He had tried resisting.  He had tried staring, as he had learned long ago that the boy was as sensitive to his eyes as he was to the boy's touch, and all he accomplished was a lasting blush and a longer, more timid session.  And he always fell asleep without knowing where his mate was or what he was doing.  

Completely defenseless.  

He needn't have had worried.  

The last time he had stayed up to watch his mate, he'd simply lain down beside him and started reading some novel until he fell asleep.  

On the whole Vegeta preferred sex, because there was something so differently intimate about falling asleep, in giving one's total welfare and care into the hands of someone else that was new in a way that disturbed him.  It was dangerous, risky, and far too cozy and soft in a way that didn't suit him in the least.  

He couldn't stop.

And this time, he didn't want to.

*

He awoke some time later, the muscles in his arms and waist limp and drowsy, to find Gohan sitting up awake next to him reading some novel.  

He sniffed the air, and was unsurprised when there wasn't a high amount of hormones or adrenaline in the air.  The thrumming in his blood wasn't even background static.  No influences.  

This was Gohan: not the demon hunter, not the gormless geek, not the slow and careful foreman…

This was Gohan: Thorough, unyielding, considerate, humble…caring…

Gohan licked his thumb and turned the page.  Vegeta concentrated on the muscles in his arm until the limb moved and curled around his mate's waist and gripped his shirt.

"Oh, you're awake.  Sorry, didn't think the light was that bright."

This was Gohan: manipulative, controlling, self-righteous, very angry, and a little distant.  

Not so very different from himself at times.

Whatever.

It could be worse.

~~~~~~~

Gohan Dreams:

I dreamed I was laying on a big granite altar, the old Celtic or Aztec kind.  

I wasn't chained or bound, and I was completely stripped of clothes.  

Blue moonlight was shining on me, just lying there.  

I turned my head, and saw him standing there, in between the moonlight and shadow.  I could see his eyes, and we looked at each other.  

He had a big butcher knife, but now I'm not sure why.  

He wouldn't need it to kill me.  He despised weapons, preferring to use his hands and hard-earned skills to hunt and kill.  He thought weapons were weak.  

I wasn't afraid.  I was on an altar, the moon at it's zenith, and he had a very big knife.  

I'm half-human.  Saiyans wouldn't do it like this.  I wasn't afraid.  He wasn't going to cut me.  He was supposed to, but he wasn't going to.  

We just looked at each other.  I don't know when I've felt so peaceful, not doing or thinking anything.  Home was a volcano covered with smiles and custom.  We just looked at each other.

Later, maybe in the same dream, maybe not, I dreamed my eyes were closing because he was kissing me again. 

~~~~~~

Lemony Style

Wet.  

That's how you would describe it.  

Wet and hot so hot it toasts the back of your tongue, so salty it makes your eyes water.  

You lick the sweat off the neck you've fallen in love with, the skin you adore, and the blood you cherish so passionately it scares you.  

You've given him so much.  

You didn't keep too much for yourself, you wonder if you kept anything at all.  You don't care much.  

You forget as fingers clutch your back, grip your shoulders, muffled moans and gratifying needy whimpers caress your ears like warm water.  

You rub your face against coarse clean vertical hair that smells like summer rain and has an addictive quality to it that makes it hard to think.  

Thighs squeeze and crush and pull you in, begging with a high-pitched scream that whimpers and pleads your name.

"…_Ve…gete…veg-geTAA…_"

Your name.  

Yours.  

Not some faceless god or forgotten prince or bastard killer.  

Your name.  

You.  

He calls for you; he begs from you, he exalts you.  

High, breathless whimpers dissolve into something like a giggle melting into something like a scream washing into something like pain.  

He smiles wider and his elation crashes through your mind in bracing cold torrents of ocean waves, bubbles of hope and dirty joy frothing at the crest.

He desire for you goes deeper than blood.  

He desire for you goes through his soul and mind and essence and you wonder briefly as you bang him especially hard and then just caress his insides gently to feel him arch and writhe: Was he made for you?  Or were you made for him?

It's an inconsequential inquiry that opens a little pocket in the wide rapids of your lust and pleasure.  

Warm wet suction surrounds and kisses you, right where you need it, muscles contracting like an earthworm, trapping and teasing you to make you clench and jerk and push harder.  

He pants hard into your ear, speaking, spitting, sweating, the humidity creating a small rainforest in your hair.  He rubs his chest against you, the muscles rasping and burning so slicked with sweat they move like a well-oiled machine.

The space monster and the country scholar.  

The lost king and the promised savior.  

Both too late to do anything worth doing.  The idiot saw to that.   

He shrieks new steel into your ear and swallows you into him hard pushing back against you, and you bite his neck, damp and dripping with sweat and saliva already and now wetter and warmer with tangy metallic flooding your nose and mouth…: You both let out a heartfelt bone deep moan and throb once, twice, so hard, so sharp with desire that it hurts.  

He whimpers hard and sharp and begs incoherently as you work towards the moment that you love and hate with a passion like you love and hate anything.  

You work towards getting off with rhythm and pressure.

_more…please…yes!  yes, just like that…fu-ucck **yeesss**…vegeta…vegeta…_

You work to get off.

_oh thank you thank you thank you…_

You hate this moment because the moments over, because you can't keep the screams he gives you in a box somewhere; you can only caress them now.  You can't put his elation in a photo.  You can barely lock inside you mind.

You hate and love it because this is the best part, where he surrenders and touches you like you've always wanted but never needed, the very best part where _you_ surrender and worship him like you've always needed to and never could.  

This is the best part where you and he are both so weak and helpless with his and your very cores out in the open between you two while he fights to keep your gaze, drowning in each other's eyes, the light reflecting off his eyes mimicking stars, his skin lubricated in a thin layer of fluid, his mouth, his perfect delectable flexible mouth open and gasping and screaming; eyes closed when he can't hold it back anymore.  

This is the moment you love.  Because, at this moment, this one second, he is completely, totally, down to his soul and blood and instinct…yours.  

All yours.  

Not his father's, not his mother's, not the Earth's, not his dream's and not his nightmare's boy.  

He is yours.  

All yours.

And you are his. 

He is you.

And you are him.

…

Beat.

Breathe.

…

It's over now.

~~~~

A/N: I have had this thing rolling around in my computer for so _long_…it's over now.  Much thanks to the Blue Seeress for early beta-reading, to Android 71 for encouragement and interest when it really counted and not forgetting about me, and Angelus for making me strive to improvement with wonderful compliments and to GW-Imp for reminding me this thing existed, and sporking me until I finished it.  I loved writing it; I think it's one of my finer works, even with it's fractured structure and non-clarity, but I'm really proud of it.  It's over now.


End file.
